


Bohemian Rhapsody

by Wiggins



Series: In the Lap of the Gods [1]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, F/M, Fade Shenanigans, Major Original Character(s), Modern Girl in Thedas, Original Character-centric, POV First Person, Self-Insert, This is more of an original character insert than a self-insert.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2018-11-03 11:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10965882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiggins/pseuds/Wiggins
Summary: I didn't so much 'land' in Thedas as 'casuallyaccidentally saunter from one dream to another.'  I swiftly learned that it's a lot easier to wander into the Fade than it is to get out (thanks, Solas).  I've made the best of it, made friends (family) on both sides of the Veil, and now, after 10 years stuck in the Fade, I've finally found my way out.And all it took was a funny green mark and what looks like the end of the world as we know it (I don't feel fine).Well, shit.





	1. I Want to Break Free

**Author's Note:**

> I have a general plot line for how I want things to unfold, as well as a few potential pairings in mind, but I'm going to let things shake out as they may. YES, there's an explanation (kind of) for how this all happened and what the last ten years have wrought. Intermittent updates as time and inspiration allows.

I was moving on autopilot, too shocked to do much more than gape at my surroundings, at the people, at _myself_. I would never take breathing, or being corporeal, or _anything_ like that for granted ever again. Ten years on the wrong side of the Veil left me in awe of the immediacy, the visceral reality of _existing_. As soon as I’d established that I was, in fact, in my own body and not surfing in someone else’s ( _I remembered that scar on my left hand, now running parallel to a bright green slash – **not thinking about it**_ ), I allowed myself to marvel.

Air, I was breathing in _real air_.  Sunlight, _real_ sunlight, I could see it through the windows.  Coarse cloth on my skin, sweat on the back of my neck, cold bite of stone against my knees on the ground.  I could feel and taste and hear and see and it was all gloriously real.  Not a memory of what once was, not a pale imitation of reality ( _the Matrix has you, Neo_ ), this was happening.  I was _out_.

It helped that I had memorized the opening to Dragon Age: Inquisition, oh so long ago. Time had dulled my memories but I had played through the first fifteen minutes or so of DA:I at least a hundred times just trying to get a character whose face I liked enough to stare at it for the next 60+ hours. Cassandra’s threats and Leliana’s cool appraisal rolled off my shoulders like water off a duck’s back. I answered their questions with what I remembered from the script. I didn’t even flinch when Cassandra raised a hand to strike me.

That might have been the shock talking.

I didn’t really ‘come to’ and start focusing on what was happening, what it all _meant_ , until we were leaving Haven. I froze as soon as Cassandra sliced the rope from my wrists. In the background, I heard her say something about a trial, but I was too busy staring at my hands again. _My hands_. Scar and bright green mark and too-short nails and warm flesh and pumping blood and-

Somehow, after nearly a decade of attempts, I had made it through the Veil. I was in my body again. My body, which – as far as I knew – had been left behind on Earth, was now in the realm of Thedas. I pressed the fingers of my right hand to my temple and started swearing, quietly, in English.  " _He's going to kill me_ ," I said, because it was definitely true ( _problem for later_ ).

“What is that?” Cassandra asked sharply, suspicion instantly aroused.

“My native tongue,” I told her, slipping back into Trade. My accent was faint, after years of practice with a demanding taskmaster ( _don’t think about it_ ), and nowhere near as obvious as the Nevarran slant to her words. I looked her in the eye and shrugged. “I honestly don’t know what’s going on, or how I got here. Everything is… blurry.”  I remembered a room and a voice and yelling.  I remembered running.  I remembered a hand - not mine.  Before that, the fight about the Conclave ("You're not going!"  "Try and stop me, _oh wait_.") and after that, the shackles.  In between was confusion and fear and pain.

“But you will help,” she said, drawing me out of my thoughts. It was not a question.

“I will help,” I confirmed.

We started jogging down the path. I saw small fires and chunks of rubble, abandoned wagons and frightened soldiers. It was horrifying, it was bloody, it was so painfully sharp and _real_ that I felt the beginnings of a panic attack start. I shoved those feelings down ( _deal with it later_ ) and followed after Cassandra.

“Who donated the clothing?” I asked.  The last clothing I recalled having on my body ( _so long ago_ ) was business attire.  I was definitely not currently dressed in business attire.  I wondered, vaguely, if Leliana had a box with my things in it.  I didn't have any real emotional attachment to the clothing, not anymore, but it was funny to imagine her poring over my pencil skirt and button-up, trying to divine ill intent from my clothes.

“The Chantry,” Cassandra said shortly.

The Breach above us cracked thunderously and twisted across the sky, expanding. The mark on my hand did the same and the shock of feeling – like the worst pins and needles multiplied a thousand fold – drove me to my knees. I curled over my hand, forehead nearly touching the ground, and breathed through it until it passed.

Cassandra helped me up, concern twisting her features. “The pulses are coming faster now,” she said. “We must hurry.”

We were most of the way across the bridge when it was struck as opposed to halfway, but the result was basically the same: we tumbled down onto the ice just in time for demons to spring from… somewhere. There wasn’t a Rift here, so I wasn’t clear on where these ones had come from. From the Breach itself? That was quite a long way to fall; I would have thought the impact alone-

Cassandra was fighting two demons while I sat there like a useless lump, woolgathering. There were a few weapons to one side of me, scattered along with a couple of corpses ( _not the time_ ). I grabbed up a mage staff and fell into a stance. It didn’t even occur to me that I might not have magic when in my own body. I’d spent the last several years imbuing spells with my own energy, I knew the shape that the magic needed to take and I just _did_ it.

It didn’t feel all that different from what I was used to, though it took a bit more concentration to twist my magic into a shape that said _fire_. It seemed almost to fight me, but I was pretty sure that was down to the fact that there were other shapes I was more acclimated to ( _something to think about later, how much carried over?_ ). Three more fire spells and a little experimentation with ice later and the demons were down.

Cassandra stalked over to me with a snarl on her face and the light of battle in her eyes. “Drop your weapon!”

I nodded, immediately kneeling to set it on the ground, but-

“Wait,” she sighed and sheathed her sword. “I-“

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m much better with healing spells than anything else,” I offered.

She cast a pointed look at the scorch marks on the ground. “Considering your show of skill with fire, no, it does not make me feel better.”

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at her dry delivery. “I am not your enemy,” I said, standing.

“That remains to be seen. Come.”

For someone who claimed to be uncertain of my motivations, she sure was quick to give me her back. Not that I thought I could take her, _hell no_ , but still. I was pretty sure that I was on my way to winning over the badass Seeker, and that was pretty cool. Definitely a departure from my very _first_ encounter with a Thedosian warrior, though that was more owed to the fact that Cassandra and I had a common language than anything else. It was hard to convince people that you weren’t evil, an Abomination, a demon, or otherwise dangerous when you couldn’t talk to each other. Fond memories.

We fought our way through a few more groups of demons. By the third, Cassandra actually deigned to let me heal her. If I hadn’t had access to healing magic, I would have been screwed. My body couldn’t handle all of the climbing and slogging through snow and whatnot. It was weird to contemplate, but I was pretty certain that – in spite of the years I’d spent in the Fade – my body was exactly the same as it had been when I’d first tumbled headfirst into Thedas by way of my dreams. Under my borrowed clothes, I was the same woman I’d been on Earth: office job and lack of natural athleticism intact in spite of my changed circumstances.

“We’re getting close,” Cassandra called. “You can hear the fighting!”

“Wait, who’s fight-“ Oh. Oh _fuck_.

We climbed to the top of yet another hill and into sight of a pile of rubble where there was a Rift, some soldiers, several demons, and two people I’d really rather not deal with today, albeit for wildly different reasons. Regardless, I immediately started pitching fire at the demons. It was getting easier, and I’d started experimenting with intensifying the flames: making them burn even hotter, or longer. It was the work of moments to climb into the thick of it – for a given value of ‘the thick of it,’ seeing as I was a long-range fighter – and subdue the remaining demons. The remaining soldiers immediately set off for what I assumed were the front lines, closer to the place where green bled across the sky.

Meanwhile, my hand and, therefore, the rest of me, was grabbed and yanked over to stand next to the Rift. Green light sprang up between my hand and the tear in the air, like a tether or a whip, crackling and snapping and snarling as it spat light and energy. I felt like someone was pulling something out of me through that strange connection. Instinctively, I pulled back, an action that was half physical and half mental. After a moment or two of building tension, it felt like something snapped into place.

The Rift disappeared and I was left staring at my hands. Again.

I rubbed my wrist and cast a sidelong glance at Solas. Must remember not to use his name until he offers it. Must remember not to arouse the suspicion or interest of the powerful elvhen deity-figure.  Remember, you know nothing ( _Jon Snow_ ).

He was staring back at me.

Yeah, probably a bit late for that.

Cassandra made a relieved-sounding noise. “The Rifts, you can close them!”

“Looks like,” I muttered.

The elf put his hands behind his back, adopting a pose that I associated with university lecturers. “Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it _could_ also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra said.

“Possibly.”

“ _This is going to suck, this is going to suck **so much**_ ,” I muttered, dropping into English.

Solas was frowning at me now, his ears canting up to catch my words.

“Good to know!” a jovial voice interjected. “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.”

Time to face the music. I turned on my heel, facing the dwarf and giving him a small smile. “Well, ass-deep for you is barely knee-deep for the rest of us. Always remember: it could be worse, it could be _raining_.”

He stared at me, slack-jawed. “…Spooky?”

“Hey, Varric. Long time no see.”


	2. Under Pressure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of alternating chapters, I might just do flashbacks as necessary and a few prequel oneshots. Undecided. If you have a preference, feel free to let me know in the comments section.
> 
> Fic title changed from "Well, Shit." to "Bohemian Rhapsody" because it fits the theme I'm working with better. Plus the first few lyrics are hilariously apt.

Cassandra was looking between us with steadily growing outrage. “You _know_ each other?”

“It’s a long story,” I offered, eyes locked with Varric’s.

“One I wrote down and published,” he said, skin still several shades paler than normal.

“Haven’t read it,” I said. “Should probably get on that.”

“Who _are_ you?” Cassandra demanded, staring at me intently.

“In hindsight, I really would have thought this should have come up earlier, but oh well.” It was entirely possible that my habit of talking to myself was going to bite me in the ass sometime soon, especially once we caught up with Leliana, or if we got around to recruiting Bull ( _not the time_ ). “My name is Cassidy, feel free to call me ‘Dee.’ Varric’s the only one who calls me ‘Spooky.’”

“’Dee?’” Cassandra echoed, looking utterly shell-shocked. “ _You_ are the Champion’s spy?”

I blinked rapidly, assimilating that, then shot a narrow-eyed glare at Varric. “Yeah, _definitely_ need to read that book as soon as possible,” I muttered.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions,” the elf broke in. “I am pleased to see that you still live.”

Thank goodness for that, now I wouldn't have to worry about slipping up with his name.  I would just have to worry about slipping up with all of the other things that I shouldn't know about the Fade, the elvhen pantheon, or... the list was too long to iterate when the world was, quite literally, hanging in the balance.  I resolved to make an actual list of everything I would need to hide from Solas _later_.

Varric froze at Solas's words. “You could have died. You could _still_ die. _Shit_.”

Granted, the majority of his concern stemmed from worry for his best friend, but seeing as _his_ best friend was also _my_ best friend, the reminder of the possible consequences of this venture pricked at my conscience. I couldn’t help but wince, picturing Garrett’s inevitable panic over my sudden disappearance. Bright side, if I _did_ die I wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout. Downside, I would be _dead_. “I would like to say that, in my defense, I had _no idea_ that this would happen.”

“What _did_ happen?” Cassandra asked. “Do you know where the Champion is?”

I exchanged a look with Varric. “The last thing I remember really clearly before-“ I gestured up at the sky, “-is arguing with Garrett about going to the Conclave. I wanted to go check things out, see what was what, he was… not a fan of that plan.” I folded my arms and, honest to god, I was _not_ pouting. “He can be completely unreasonable.”

“In light of recent circumstances, it appears your friend’s concerns were entirely founded,” Solas put in.

“Where is the Champion?” Cassandra reiterated.

I shrugged at her. “Probably somewhere in the Marches. We split up thereabouts and I headed here.” That was _mostly_ true. I didn’t exactly like lying and planned to avoid it as much as possible, but there was literally _no way_ I was going to explain to a _Seeker_ that I’d used the Fade to fast travel to the Conclave.  Why could I use the Fade to fast travel? Oh, you know, because I had spent the last nine-odd years as the ‘spirit’ half of a Spirit Healer. On that note, I _did_ wonder what the hell Garrett was going to do without me ( _not the time, worry about_ him _later and_ yourself _now_ ). I also wondered how my friends on the other side were faring ( _definitely not the time_ ).

The Breach chose that moment to crackle and expand, sending me staggering in pain. Solas caught me and steadied me, hands firm on my shoulders till I got my feet back under me.

“Thanks,” I said. “For that and also, you know, keeping me alive.”

“You are most welcome,” he said, giving me a small smile. “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have ever seen. Cassidy may be a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

“Understood. We should press on.” She turned to lead us off and then paused and looked back at me, mouth twisting. “We will revisit your reasons for attending the Conclave later,” she informed me. It felt like there should have been an ominous drum roll after her pronouncement.

Solas trotted after her, leaving Varric and I to bring up the rear.

“Maker’s _breath_ , Spooky. What – _how_ –“ he gestured at me helplessly.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I told him. “I wasn’t kidding about not remembering much. For what it’s worth, this _is_ me, scars and all. Not sure how I got here but-“ I waggled my marked hand in his direction. “Pretty sure we’ve got more important things to worry about right now.”

“Hawke must be going ballistic,” Varric muttered.

We were moving at a decent pace, Cassandra at the lead, but I noticed that Solas’s ears were tilted back to pick up our conversation. I didn’t think we’d said anything particularly incriminating yet, but I had no idea how much he’d been able to discern from his previous examinations while I’d been unconscious. It was entirely possible that my time in the Fade showed up in my magic somewhere. I, frankly, did not know enough about magical theory to even _guess_ at what Solas might know.

“How long was I out?”

“Three days.”

“Garrett has probably passed ‘ballistic’ and moved on to ‘seething rage’ by now.”

“Comforting,” Varric said sourly.

* * *

 A few more demons and one rift later, we reached the forward camp, Leliana, and Roderick. He called for my death, Cassandra pointed out I was needed, and all the while Leliana watched me with sharp, discerning eyes. Between her scrutiny at my front and Solas’s watchful gaze at my back, I felt like I was on display. It was an itchy, uncomfortable feeling that added to the weirdness of it all. Just being around this many real, actual people, and not _memories_ of people, was strange enough. I was used to being the watcher, not the one watched.

“- do you think we should do?” Cassandra asked me, breaking into my thoughts.

If I recalled correctly, my choices were climb a mountain or press on straight ahead. I always chose the mountain path when I played the game, forever and a lifetime ago, but I genuinely wasn’t certain whether my body could handle that much more physical work. There were Rifts either way, but those scouts would definitely all be lost if we just charged…

I rolled my shoulders and sighed. “Mountain path, please and thank you.”

The climb was arduous and I ended up relying on my magic more than I liked, but the view was worth it. It was just starting to really sink in that I may very well be climbing towards my doom. At the other end of this path there was at least one very big demon and the Breach. It stretched across the sky like a gaping wound, oozing mist and light instead of blood. If I looked at it too long, I felt almost like I might be able to make out what was beyond, on the other side. It made me dizzy and nauseated, so I focused on killing the demons that appeared sporadically.

We made it through the cave and found the dead scouts, or what was left of them. I took deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to focus on something – _anything_ – aside from the bodies. It was a bit different to see and smell them from _this_ side of the Veil. I’d seen more and, arguably, worse with Garrett, but it was so different to perceive everything with _my own_ senses, from _my own_ body. All of the sensory input was actually starting to give me a headache.

“You okay, Spooky?” Varric asked.

“Not really,” I said honestly. “But I don’t have time to freak out right now.”

“Indeed, we should press on ahead to the Breach,” Solas put in.

“Lets find the scouts first.”

Finding the scouts was pretty easy, we just needed to follow the faint blood trail and then, once that ended, the sounds of fighting. There were significantly more demons near this Rift than there had been at the previous ones I’d dealt with. I focused on killing the demons before tackling the Rift, which turned out to be a good choice if only because this Rift was bigger than the others I’d closed. It took a little more focus and much more _pulling_ than I’d had to bring to bear up to this point.

If this was any indication of how bad the Breach would be, I was concerned ( _to put it mildly_ ).

“Hey, Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“If, by some slight chance, I die and you survive-“

“Hawke will kill me. Then Sunshine will become a Necromancer just so she can resurrect me. Then Junior will kill me again. Then -”

“Okay, but _before_ all of that, please let Garrett know that he was right. That might comfort him a little.”

Varric made a noise worthy of Cassandra.

* * *

 I’d like to say that reaching the Breach was anticlimactic, but it was far more impressive up close. The roasted and still-smoldering corpses scattered here and there really added to the ambiance. My stomach pitched and rolled like I was on a boat and I swallowed bile several times as we picked through the rubble to reach the epicenter of the explosion. Leliana and co. caught up with us and I ignored her reunion with Cassandra to focus on the big green streak in the sky. I had to close that thing. _Me_. If I didn’t, everyone I knew, everyone I’d grown to love over the course of the last decade, would die. No pressure.

We started climbing down towards the center and, right on queue, the ‘echoes’ began. I ignored the voice of Corypheus as best I could and kept on trucking. I ignored the Divine as well. The red lyrium was another story. I could _feel_ it humming and _hear_ it singing. Finding it growing naturally was about 1,000x worse than fighting Meredith had been, and that fight hadn’t been what anyone would call ‘easy.’ By the end of it, Garrett and I had both been utterly tapped out. This was still worse. _Much_ worse.

Then my voice resounded across the sky, “Hey! Leave the nice old lady alone!”

My head jerked up so quickly my neck cracked. There, floating in the sky, was a memory. Corypheus was wreathed in terror, the Divine glowed with her fervor and fortitude, and between them was a reflection of me, distorted to the point that it was impossible to make out anything clearly. My voice was recognizable, but nothing else was.  If I recalled correctly, in the game it was pretty easy to make out the Inquisitor.  I mentally tallied this as a point in favor of my pet theory that the mark had somehow yanked my body from wherever it was and reconnected it to my spirit ( _at long last_ ).

The Divine called out: “Please! Warn them!”

Then the image flickered and died.

“So you _were_ there,” Cassandra cried, rounding on me.

I held up a hand ( _not the marked one_ ), forestalling any further questions: “ _Still_ don’t remember anything.”

She scowled at me, lips pursed, but nodded.

I continued to stare at the sky while she discussed demons with Solas. I was still staring as Leliana positioned what remained of the scouts and the soldiers that had made it through the valley. I wondered if it would be worth it to try and pray.

“Are you ready?” Solas asked me.

Technically speaking, we did have ( _a_ ) god on our side. It was less comforting than I would have hoped. “Ready to use magic we don’t understand to try and solve a problem we don’t know the origin of?” I shot him a lopsided smile. “Sure, why not?”

He stared at me for a moment, searching my face for something, then dipped his head in a quick nod. “Good luck.”

I wasn’t sure whether or not that counted as a blessing from a god, but at that point contemplating it would just have been a stalling tactic. I braced my left arm with my right, pointed my palm at the green tear in the sky and _pushed_. Perhaps it was because I was the one who had opened it, but I could _feel_ it as the demon pushed through the barrier and into our world. It was _pressure_ and _release_ and it felt, not _good_ , but somehow _pleasant_. I put it on my list of ‘things to think about later’ and focused on the Pride demon that had materialized.

The fight was grueling and involved a great deal more running than I wanted to do. I could feel my magic reserve starting to run dry. It replenished at a steady rate, but it was slower and slower every time I threw out a blast of fire or quick heal. I tried to keep an eye on my companions, but I had to focus on using the Rift to weaken the demon. Most battles took a few minutes, this one felt like it dragged on for _hours_. By the time the demons were dead and the Rift dealt with, I was panting, my arms and legs trembling with fatigue, and I knew I  _still_ wasn’t done.

“Here,” Cassandra said, passing me a healing potion.

I slugged it back like a shot, enjoying the warmth that swept through me. The taste was kind of like cherry cough syrup with a hint of catnip. Not the best flavor, but I’d put worse things in my mouth. The benefits vastly outweighed the downsides.

“ _Here goes nothing_ ,” I muttered. For some reason, maybe sentiment, I wanted my ( _possibly_ ) last words to be in English. “ _Thanks for the memories, Thedas, it’s been swell._ ”

I lifted my hand to the Breach and let ‘er rip. It felt like I was playing tug-o-war with a wall. I pulled and pulled and _pulled_ and the action became my world. Everything else was driven out of my mind, nothing left but the struggle and fight. I _pulled_ until the green started to fade away, and then as soon as the green was gone the rest of the color left my vision like water spinning down a drain.

The world went black and I fell into the darkness.


	3. Under Pressure, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Generally speaking, if Cassidy is speaking ( _or thinking_ ) in all italics, it's English. I try to make it clear in the text when this is happening. If anyone finds it especially confusing, please let me know.

I woke up.

Waking up is really odd, if you think about it ( _I can’t believe I’m thinking about this_ ). It’s a shift from unconscious to conscious, it can be slow or quick, but there’s a tangible _snap_ in your brain when you transition from ‘no sensory input’ to ‘all senses, all the time.’ Plus, if you are – for example – waking up in different clothes or a different environment than you last recall occupying, there’s a nagging feel of dislocation. I treasured that feeling for a split second, because it meant that I was in _my_ _body_ and _my body_ was alive ( _I survived the first quest_ ). One of those things was kind of novel ( _ten years_ ) while the other was just plain surprising.

I sat up, groaning as my muscles sent complaints to my brain. I felt like I’d been pummeled all over, or attempted to run up and down mountains while fighting demons and – _oh wait_. This was the downside to being corporeal, but I welcomed the pain. Pain, as the wise sage once said, is one of the ways the body tells you its alive. I was feeling _very_ alive ( _and planning on stayin’ alive_ ).

I scooted towards the wall and leaned against it, folding my legs till they crossed. I hadn’t really had time to contemplate what was going on or how I was going to deal with it, what with trying to save the world and all. The world was still in peril. I had the mark from Solas’s focus. I was about to be named a Herald and, if all went according to what I recalled, I would eventually become the Inquisitor. That was… a lot of responsibility ( _this is not the time to have a panic attack_ ).

On second thought, I was alone and I had just survived a traumatizing ordeal, maybe this was _precisely_ the time to have a panic attack. Couldn’t get much more private than my own personal cabin of convalescence, right? Except I _hated_ panicking: I’d much rather logic things out.

“ _Worst case scenario, you die. Then everyone else dies. Poof. Best case scenario, you live, you stop the big bad, you lose your hand a few years later and then have to prep to stop a bigger, morally ambiguous, bad_.” I flexed my fingers and scowled down at the mark on my left hand. At least I was a rightie, I wouldn’t be losing my dominant hand ( _assuming I survived_ ). Losing a hand meant I wouldn’t be able to wield a staff any longer. I should probably prep for that by trying to figure out an alternate way to channel my magic, or just get used to staffless casting.

I shook my head, thumping it lightly against the wall behind me. “ _Worry about your one-hand-clapping future **later** , focus on surviving to say goodbye to your hand **now** ,_” I growled. “ _What do I remember about the Inquisition?_ ”

It had been ten years ( _roughly_ ) since I wandered into Thedas through the power of lucid dreaming ( _regret, so much regret_ ). Then, prior to that, I hadn’t played through Inquisition in two years ( _fanfiction doesn’t count_ ). The harsh truth was that I couldn’t recall much in the way of minutiae. I remembered the broad strokes: Inquisitor gets mark, Inquisitor chooses between mages and Templars, fights Corypheus, saves Wardens, saves Celene, something about a mirror and Mythal, there’s a special dragon in there somewhere, and then there’s a final showdown where it all began. Oh, and my companions ( _assuming I recruited everyone_ ) included a war criminal masquerading as a Warden, a Qunari spy, and the elvhen god of trickery.

Most of that should still be true. In the grand scheme of things, I didn’t think my presence at the side of the Hawke family had changed all that much for Thedas. Bethany and Carver were both still alive and kicking ( _unless something awful had happened in the last few days – don’t think about it_ ) and Leandra had survived the grisly attentions of Quentin only to die in the Chantry explosion ( _still sent a pang through my heart, a mere echo of Garrett’s agony_ ). I made small, personal differences in the lives of my friends, but none of my choices had been on as grand of a scale as the ( _goddamn_ ) Inquisition. I _strongly_ doubted that the butterfly effect would impact the key moments I would be facing.

Of course, thinking that was just _inviting_ Murphy’s Law to come kick me in the metaphorical junk.

* * *

After scaring the ever-loving crap out of the poor elf who had been assigned to bring me potions and food, I left my cabin. Everyone was, as I had kind of expected, staring at me. I was followed by hushed whispers about the mark on my hand, the Maker, and Andraste as I made my way through Haven. It was a decently sized town, or it had been. Now, with all the refugees, it seemed much larger ( _though that could have been the crowding_ ). With all the people around ( _staring at me_ ) it was hard to find Varric. Eventually I had to bite the bullet ( _arrow? dagger?_ ) and ask someone. After much stuttering, several awkward thank-yous, and a clumsy attempt at a curtsy, I received an answer.

It figured that Varric would park himself near the Chantry. Close enough to know what was going on without being tripped over constantly by the people in charge. I really should have guessed.

He looked relieved when he saw me. “Spooky! Glad to see you up and about.”

“Glad to be standing,” I said.

“The Seeker is looking for you.”

“Yes, I know.” He was only the _fourth_ person to tell me. Was everyone scared of her? I sank down beside him, enjoying the warmth of his small campfire. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Me? I’m flatter-“

“Champion’s _spy?_ ” I hissed in a furious whisper. “Care to explain?”

Varric grimaced, held up a finger, and then disappeared into his tent. When he emerged, moments later, he was holding a book and wearing a sheepish smile. “You said something about wanting to read this. If you’re going to be hobnobbing with the Seeker and the Nightingale, you should probably do that sooner rather than later.”

I took the copy of _The Tale of the Champion_ with careful hands, skimming my fingers over the fine leather it was bound in. The cover showed a mage’s staff crossed with a Templar’s distinctive blade ( _a bit on the nose, don’t you think?_ ). “I wasn’t expecting to make it into the story,” I muttered. I looked back up just in time to catch the incredulous look on the dwarf’s face.

He snorted. “Tell the tale of the great Garrett Hawke without mentioning his spooky little friend? I _was_ trying for accuracy.”

“Champion’s _spy_ ,” I reminded him.

“Accuracy only matters if it’s _believable_. Nobody would believe the truth, especially not _now_ ,” Varric said, giving my left hand a pointed look. He skimmed the rest of me with his eyes, and his expression softened. “How you holding up, Spooky? The past few days must have been… pretty intense.”

“You have a gift for understatement, Master Tethras. I suppose it could be worse, though.”

“It could be raining?” he finished, lips twitching up into the beginnings of a smile. I knew Garrett had picked up that little turn of phrase from me, hearing it from Varric made my heart hurt ( _loneliness? not thinking about it_ ).

“Exactly.” It didn’t feel like the right time for a heart-to-heart about my feelings or where my head was at ( _don’t think about Garrett_ ). I wasn’t feeling like picking at emotional wounds or even _thinking_ too hard. I stood, groaning a little at the stretch in my muscles. “I’m off to see the Seeker, thanks for the loan.”

“Keep it,” Varric told me. “Everybody else who’s in it got a free copy. I just never thought I’d be able to hand you yours.”

* * *

The Chantry was the tallest building in the village. It had the distinctive look I associated with churches ( _stained glass windows_ ) and people in habits were bustling in, out, and around. The muttering continued to dog my heels, but with a more prayerful bent slipping in the closer I came to the building. It was off-putting in a way I hadn’t expected, and it meant _even more_ responsibility. I was the ‘Herald of Andraste’ and, like it or not ( _not, definitely not_ ), my words and deeds would have an impact on the dominant religion in Thedas.

I could hear shouting as soon as I went through the doors into the Chantry. The building was massive, the entryway leading right into where I assumed the congregation would gather for sermons or ‘chants.’ The very stones echoed with Roderick and Cassandra’s arguing and I followed the voices to the back of the room where there was a short hallway and four doors. One of these probably led to Josephine’s office, the rest I wasn’t sure of ( _explore later, deal with Inquisition now_ ).

The door opened with a soft creak. Immediately, I was the focus of three very different stares. Leliana: cool and evaluating. Cassandra: furious and relieved. Roderick: sour and aggrieved. “Pardon my interruption, but you wanted to see me?”

That set off another round of arguing, one that didn’t seem to require my input. I zoned out as holy writ this and Inquisition that was bandied back and forth between the ‘glorified clerk’ and former Hands of the Divine. The room we were in was a lot nicer than I had expected for an office in a relatively backwater chantry. The floors were clean-swept, books lined the walls, and the fire-

“Cassidy,” Cassandra called, frowning at me, “what say you?”

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” I asked sheepishly.

She shot an exasperated look at Leliana before turning back to me, drawing herself up stiffly. “We intend to reform the Inquisition. Our purpose will be to find those who murdered the Divine and bring them to justice. We do not have time to dally while the Mothers and Sisters bicker over who should replace the Most Holy. The Rifts-“

“More are appearing every day,” Leliana said. “As of now, you are our only means of closing them.”

I looked from one to the other. “If you’re asking if I will help, the answer is ‘yes.’”

Cassandra sighed, clearly relieved. “Good, I had hoped, but-“

“We had wondered if you intended to rejoin your paramour,” Leliana finished smoothly.

“My _what?_ ”

“The Champion.”

I glared down at the book in my hand. “ _What the **fuck** did you write, Varric?_ ”

“That language, you spoke it before,” Cassandra said. “What is it?”

“It’s called _English_. Trade is not my first language.” I flicked my fingers at the book, making it clear to both of them what I held. “Look, I have no idea what Varric wrote in here, or what he told you, but it sounds like there are a few… _inaccuracies_. I mean, Champion’s spy? Paramour?” I shook my head, already planning to have _words_ with the dwarf as soon as I finished reading and determined how hard I needed to hit him.

“Did you save the Champion’s siblings from an ogre?” Leliana asked.

“Technically speaking, I-“

“Did you warn the Champion when Templars came for his sister?”

“Yes, but-“

“Did you ferret out the blood mage intent on killing his mother?”

“I see where you’re-“

“Are you a shapeshifter?”

That brought me up short. In the Fade, slipping my skin had practically been a hobby. It was one of the ways to avoid demons and dreamers, plus it was just plain fun. I’d read up on the theory of shapeshifting as much as I could, but Garrett had never been particularly interested and I’d never had a body to practice it in. I weighed my words carefully, hyperaware of the eyes focused on me.

“I haven’t tried since-“ I waggled the fingers of my left hand, “but that’s not _entirely_ inaccurate, no.”

Leliana gave me a Cheshire grin. “Then it seems the book is more accurate than you supposed. I would be happy to discuss any inaccuracies with you at a later date, but for now,” she indicated the hefty tome with the Inquisition’s sigil on the cover. “We have much work to do.”

That felt like a dismissal, so I nodded and turned for the door.

Apparently I had some reading to do.


	4. Under Pressure, Part III

My stomach made an obscene growling noise before I’d made it even five steps out of the Chantry. The Sisters standing around at the door tittered as I stopped short and stared down in shock and a little awe. I didn’t know it was physically _possible_ for a stomach to complain that loudly. I briefly considered asking one of the onlookers where to find food but my embarrassment got the better of me and I headed back down the steps towards Varric instead. Lucky for me, he was still sitting at his fire.

“That was quick,” he said, eyebrows raised.

“’Will you help us save the world’ is basically a yes/no question,” I muttered. “Unless you meant this,” I tilted the book in his direction, “in which case I haven’t had a chance at it yet, but judging by the Hands’ assumptions, we’re gonna be having _words_ , Varric. Likely of the vulgar variety.” I wasn’t sure if ‘spy’ or ‘paramour’ was bothering me more at this point, but I could sort of understand the justification for the former. “Why would you–“ my stomach chose that moment to growl like an angry lion.

“ _Damn_ , Spooky, when was the last time you ate something?”

I shrugged. While I could assume that somebody had probably fed me somehow during one of my periods of convalescence, I could not remember the last time I’d eaten food. That wasn’t an exaggeration: I hadn’t had a body with which to eat in quite a long time, and it wasn’t as if I’d memorized my last few meals on Earth. At the time, I’d had no way of knowing that they _were_ my last meals.

Varric shook his head, “C’mon, Spooky. Lets get something at the tavern.”

* * *

 Haven was built in several concentric rings, ascending a hill. The highest ring was where the Chantry sat, along with a garden and a few important-looking tents that I hadn’t had the chance to explore. Varric’s makeshift camp, as well as the house that I woke up in, were in the second-highest ring. Looking around I could see that this ring was mostly houses, nice-looking ones, and what looked like some sort of fancy inn down the way. Varric led me down to the fourth ring and straight to the tavern. It was big and, even in comparison to the surrounding buildings, rustic. There were more people than I’d expected bustling in and out, but if they served food as well as liquor it made sense that there would be continuous traffic.

I was struck, once again, by all of the _people_ and _life_ surrounding me. There were children and adults and dogs and birds and cats and just so much _life_ all around. The noises and smells and sights overwhelmed me. I focused my gaze on Varric’s short bobbing ponytail and soldiered on, trying to ignore what _felt_ like a thousand eyes all trained on me ( _better get used to it now, **Herald**_ ).

The inside was significantly cleaner than I’d expected based on the exterior. There were maybe a dozen long tables and several smaller ones, all with chairs surrounding them. There were people at most of the tables, though none were full. The entire back corner was a mix of bar and, I assumed but couldn’t actually see from my position, a kitchen. The bar itself had three, maybe four, stools visible, none of which were currently occupied. Varric led me straight to the bar without stopping, and I focused on ignoring the way a hush seemed to follow us as people realized just _who_ had wandered in.

“Flissa! Got another hungry mouth for you to feed.”

I mustered up a small smile for the barwoman, which she returned with wide eyes.

“I’ll have the stew and whatever’s been cracked open most recently,” Varric said, sliding a few coins in front of the woman.

“Same, please. Wait, could I have tea instead? If possible?” I said.

“I’ll bring it right out,” Flissa said, dipping into a stilted curtsy from behind the bar.

I ducked my head and followed Varric to the empty half of one of the long tables.

“You doin’ all right?” Varric asked, looking amused.

I glared at him. “What do _you_ think?”

He snorted. “After the past few days, I’m trying not to.”

“Let me know how that works for you. In the _meantime_ ,” I set the book on the table between us and tapped it meaningfully. “Is there anything I should know _right now_ , in case I don’t get a chance to finish this before my next hobnob with the bigwigs?”

Varric shrugged, looking obnoxiously relaxed in the face of my frustration. “It’s a pretty accurate summation of what went on in Kirkwall, well, the legal bits, at least. I stuck as close to the truth as I dared with you – wandering healer apostate with a sideline on being places she shouldn’t be and hearing things she shouldn’t hear. Pivotal in Hawke’s story, but not a main player.”

I held up my right hand and ticked off three words: “Spy, shapeshifter, _paramour_.”

Varric mimicked me, albeit with slightly smaller and stubbier hands: “Firstly, how _else_ could I explain some of the shit you told Hawke to keep him out of trouble? Secondly, shapeshifter _fit_. Plus it was just about the only thing I could personally attest to. And finally–“ he gave me a look I couldn’t interpret, then sighed and shook his head. “Read, _then_ we’ll talk. There shouldn’t be anything else that’ll catch you off guard, promise.”

Flissa appeared, laden down with two large bowls, a loaf of bread, a flagon, a teapot, and two large mugs. I sat back, taking the book with me, while she arranged it all, smiling at her as best I could when she caught me looking. She scurried off without another word and I would have pondered just how scary she seemed to find me, but, well – _food_.

The stew was thick and rich with meat, starch and veggies. Some of it was stuff I recognized, like potatoes and carrots, others bits were foreign to me. All of it was so delicious that I hunched over my plate and barely kept myself from shoveling it down my throat and straight to my achingly empty stomach. It took all of my self-control to eat it slowly, chewing every bite until it fell apart and swallowing carefully.

“You look like you’re having a religious experience.”

I snorted. “Seems like everyone _else_ has, isn’t it my turn?”

“What you did…”

I looked up as soon as he trailed off. “I did what I had to,” I said, wincing at how trite that sounded. “Don’t go putting me on some sort of pedestal, Varric. I put on my pants one leg at a time, same as everyone else.”

He pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything one way or the other, returning to his food instead of responding. I scowled at him for a second, but my food was way more interesting than debating my ( _relative_ ) divinity or ( _arguable_ ) status as a mouthpiece for deity. I was sure that I would have plenty of time to convince everyone that I was anything _but_ some ordained hero…while we attempted to save the world together.

I decided right then and there that this was a hill I was prepared to die on.

Metaphorically speaking.

I waited till we were both done with the food, sipping on our ale and tea, respectively, before leaning in and asking the question I’d been dying to ask: “Have you been able to get word out to…?”

“I’ve sent a few messages off through the usual channels, but it’s gonna take time to get to the right people and even longer to get any kind of message back. What about you, can’t you use your-“ he made a fiddly gesture vaguely aimed in the direction of his head that could have meant any number of things. “ _You_ know,” he said impatiently.

I stared down at my tea because I _did_ know and yet this was also one of the things I’d been trying _really hard_ not to think about. “I – we’re not connected anymore,” I said as softly as I could while still audible. “Whatever the Breach is, it – I can’t feel him, I can’t _reach_ him.” I shrugged helplessly. “He’s almost certainly guessed that I went to the Conclave, based on our last conversation, but the tether is _gone_ , so in all likelihood-“

“He’ll assume you died in the explosion till he gets word otherwise.”

We sat in silence, pondering the likely actions of a grief-stricken Garrett Hawke, for several minutes. Garrett was something like a force of nature on a _good_ day. On a bad one – I shuddered. “Bethie and Merrill have both probably figured out that something has gone wrong by now. I usually check in with them at least once a week and it’s already been almost that since this all started. They’ll both be trying to hunt Garrett down, or at least get word of what’s going on.”

“Rumors will probably get to them before any messages do… _Herald_.”

I glared at him, but continued: “Any message you sent him will get to them soon enough once they catch up, so at least there’s that. If they’re being smart, they will stay put till we can figure out if it’s safe for the Champion and his companions to resurface together in the wake of yet _another_ magical catastrophe.”

Varric’s face was the picture of skepticism.

“If we’re _lucky_ , Bethie and Haw- _Carver_ will be able to sit on Garrett until somebody makes him see reason.”

“There’s the rub, Spooky: with Aveline still in the thick of it in Kirkwall, there’s not much _reason_ left.” He shook his head. “Don’t look so worried, not much we can do about it now, not from here anyways.”

Another item for my list, then ( _don’t think about it_ ).

* * *

 After that _uplifting_ conversation, I decided to track down Solas. Not because I was a sucker for punishment, but because something I’d brought up to Leliana was bugging me. Yes, I was a shapeshifter in the Fade, but did that hold true out here? Should I even _try_ , with the Mark on my palm? How would it translate if I shifted forms? I was trying to picture just that when I finally tracked Solas down on the third level, near to the apothecary shop.

Solas was standing outside a small house, arms folded behind him in a stance that made me think of parade rest. He had been watching the sky ( _the Breach_ ) but his ears flicked down subtly moments before he turned to watch me approach. “The Chosen of Andraste. A blessed hero sent to save us all.”

I stopped short on the steps, staring at him. “Are you Andrastian?” I asked uncertainly. I knew the answer, of course, but I was caught off guard by his opening line and didn’t quite know how to respond.

He shook his head. “I am not, no, but they have claimed you as their divine hero.”

I grimaced, finishing my ascent to stand beside him outside what I assumed was his cabin. I looked at the Breach instead of answering because the amount that I _did not_ want to get into a discussion of religion with Solas was near equal to the amount that I _did not_ want to discuss the Fade with him, albeit for vastly different reasons. I glanced down at my left hand, curling and uncurling my fingers over the Mark. “ _God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference,_ ” I quoted quietly, enjoying the taste of English on my tongue. When I looked up, Solas was studying me with a curious look I couldn’t quite interpret. “I will do what I can with what I have,” I told him.

He inclined his head, mouth opening-

“But the thought of being named some sort of divine mouthpiece for a religious institution I can’t even pretend to respect, let alone follow, is…repugnant.”

“Indeed,” he said, eyebrows winging up. “I take it you are not Andrastian either.”

“I’m not anything,” I said, shrugging.

“And yet you will fight for them.”

“I will fight to save the world from _that_ ,” I said, tilting my head toward the Breach. “They’re part of this world, so in that sense, yes, I will fight for them.” I huffed out a breath, stepping back so I could rest against the low wall that encircled this section of housing. “I may not like the religious aspects of what’s going on around me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge that it could be useful, I suppose. That said, I’m not really comfortable _using_ it, either – it feels manipulative and… wow, I am _so_ sorry, I _really_ didn’t mean to get into this when I came looking for you.”  

Solas was staring at me, head tilted slightly to one side. “Why did you come seeking me?”

“For advice, on this,” I said, lifting my left hand. “You’re our local Fade expert, and you’re also the one who kept it from killing me, according to all reports. I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me figure out how it’s impacted my magical abilities.”

“Have you noticed any differences in your casting?”

That was a loaded question. “Yes and no,” I answered slowly, because I truly needed to watch my words as much as possible around Solas ( _and Leliana and The Iron Bull and Cole and – don’t think about it_ ). “My magic feels easier, I suppose? Or, at least, more readily accessible?" Having a body of my own helped with that. "But then again, I was doing things that were largely new to me when we were fighting and I haven’t accessed most of my more honed skills since this all started. I’m a healer, and those spells almost _leapt_ out of me when I was using them up the mountain." Which accounted for the magic I'd used on Cassandra, but didn't explain the way I'd been able to run a near-continuous thread of healing magic through _my own_ body in order to keep going beyond the all-too-short limits of my endurance. "I don’t think I even need a staff, really. My other skills…”

“Shapeshifting?” Solas offered when I trailed off.

God _damn_ it, Varric. “I take it you’ve read this?” I asked, holding up _The Tale of the Champion_.

He nodded.

“Then yes, shapeshifting. Not sure if it’s a good idea to faff about with that, all things considered. On the flipside, it would be _upsetting_ to be cut off from that part of my magic.” I’d already lost Garrett, I would be devastated to lose my wings, too.

“I do not think there is any reason to suspect that your magic will be impeded by the Mark. However, your caution is wise. I would be happy to assist you in any way I can,” Solas said. He looked away, back to the Breach, and when he spoke it seemed his words were more for himself than for me. “I will stay then, at least until the Breach has been closed.”

I snorted. “Good choice, I don’t think any of us can outrun the sky.”

He smiled enigmatically. “Shall we begin?”


	5. Crash Dive on Mingo City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All instances where I referred to the common language in Thedas as 'Common' have been updated to 'Trade.'

I was too knackered from closing the Breach to actually _use_ much magic. Truth be told, most of what I’d accumulated during my spate of unconsciousness ( _how long was I out this time? must check_ ) was currently engaged in attempting to shore up my strained muscles and bruised flesh. When I informed Solas of this fact he sighed, looking faintly aggrieved.

“Herald-“

“Cassidy, or ‘Dee,’ please and thank you.”

“ _Cassidy_ -“

I was utterly unsurprised. He didn’t seem like a casual nickname kind of person.

“-you ought not attempt any potentially dangerous magics while you are unwell.”

“I don’t want to ‘attempt’ _anything_ , I just want to see if the shapes are there and whether the magic will interact with the Mark when I form it,” I explained. “I’d like you to be my…” I struggled for a moment, trying to think of a Trade word for ‘ _spotter_.’ “My watcher, if you will. Keep track of how the magic is flowing and let me know if it looks like the Mark is about to go off.”

He frowned at me, clearly skeptical, but gestured for me to proceed.

I took a deep breath and released it, trying to convince my muscles to slacken as the air fled my lungs. I was glad he’d agreed to move into his cabin for this, I didn’t like the idea of too many people staring at me while I made myself vulnerable. I didn't like the idea of large numbers of people, _period_. I bowed my head and shut my eyes, hands pressing flat against my thighs as I tapped into my magic.

My magic was inside of me, barely contained by my skin. I think the only reason that it _was_ contained was that I thought that it should be. Somehow, in the waking world, it seemed like it would be in some strange way _impolite_ to let it out to flicker freely. In the Fade I was used to being surrounded by a corona of my own making, the magic I generated flowing in and out and around the nexus of my personality/self. In the Fade, I did not have a solid shape of my own unless I deliberately tried to make one.

I gathered my magic and shaped the spell I wanted to cast, drawing the curved sigils of red and orange that I associated with my Mabari form. The magic was there, the shapes were forming, but they kept trying to twist out of my control. What I tried to make red and orange kept shifting to an earthy olive green and black-brown, the colors I associated with my-

“ _The fuck?_ ” I muttered crossly.

“Why did you stop?” Solas asked. “The Mark did not appear to have any ill effects.”

I sighed and shook my head. “Let me try again.”

This time I reached for the blue-green curlicues and acute angles of my crow body. Again, the colors kept trying to shift, the shapes tried to twist out of my metaphorical hands and rearrange themselves into a very different, albeit largely recognizable, form. Instead of releasing the effort, I muscled the spell into place until I felt it, fully-forming with a _click_ like a puzzle piece being snapped into place in the very core of me. Slowly, I opened my eyes and found Solas staring at me contemplatively.

“It appears that the Mark will not impede you.”

I thought of that odd _twisting_ and grimaced, but he didn’t appear to notice.

“May I ask – where did you learn to cast? You are clearly not Circle-trained.”

In a moment it felt like all of my bones turned to steel. “Why?” I asked warily. “Am I doing something wrong?” Is there Fade goo on my magic? Can you tell where I’ve been? Have I already fucked everything up? Shit shit shit shit _shit_ -

His ears flicked back and his lips turned down a little at the corners. It looked like he was about to say something, but then he stopped, mouth shutting with a click of snapped teeth. “Nothing _wrong_ ,” he said after a moment. “Merely that I have rarely seen such internal mastery of magic outside of memories in the Fade.”

Oh.

Oh. Well, that’s…

Shit shit shit shit _shit_ -

I smiled as blandly as possible. "I had unorthodox teachers."

* * *

 I barely gave Varric a wave as I passed him on my way back to the cabin I’d been assigned. I was so exhausted that it was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. Physically, I was still pretty wrecked from mountain-climbing, demon-slaying, and Breach-closing ( _oh my!_ ). Mentally, I was drained from my conversations with Varric, Cassandra, Leliana and Solas. I ranked them in order from least to most conversational minefields I had to consider when engaging in any kind of speech.

Things with Varric were relatively easy if I didn’t let myself think about it too hard ( _gold medal winner at the not-thinking-about-it Olympics, that’s me_ ). We had shared life experience, mutual friends, and a lot in common. The simple fact was that, prior to the Breach, we’d only really met in person ( _for a given value of ‘personhood’_ ) once. Any awkwardness there was almost certainly entirely in my own head and not worth thinking about. Based solely on our shared interests – Garrett, the Kirkwall crew, Garrett, saving the world, Garrett, books, and _Garrett_ – we were sure to be true friends before too long rather than just friendly acquaintances.

Cassandra seemed pretty straightforward. I was wary that she’d built up some sort of image of me in her mind from reading Varric’s book and would inevitably be disappointed in the reality. I could probably wave off any glaring inconsistencies between the book and me by blaming artistic license, but I’d need to be careful to make sure that my story gelled with Varric’s. She was also one of the more devout followers I was likely to acquire, and as such I would need to be careful what I did and did not say regarding my presumed affinity with divinity ( _say that five times fast_ ). I remembered liking her when I’d played the game, what felt like a lifetime ago. It would be nice if we could be friends.

Leliana was the epitome of the steel hand in the velvet glove. Assuming that that steel hand was bedecked with a variety of distractingly sparkly poison rings. I honestly didn’t know which way she would fall if she somehow divined ( _hah_ ) my origins or the truth of my connection to Garrett. I had no illusions that I could play the Game on the level of the Nightingale. My best bet was to be myself and…

There was a soft ‘whump’ sound as I fell face-first into my bed.

“ _Be yourself, everyone else is already taken_ ,” I muttered.

As far as strategies went, it was the simplest I could think of, and therefore probably the safest. There is no charade to discover if there is no charade! Instead of lying, I would just attempt to avoid the topics most likely to get me burned as a heretic or shanked as a demon.

Then there was Solas to consider, and he was every bit as much of a threat as Leliana ( _with the volume turned up to eleven_ ). He was, I felt, the most likely to poke holes in my story. He was already suspicious: apparently the way I formed magic harkened back to the days and ways of the Elvhenan, who developed their practices long before the Veil was formed. It wasn’t as if I’d had a teacher at the very beginning! In fact, I hadn’t even realized when I crossed the line from lucid dreaming to magical casting. Since then, most of my instructors had been Spirits of some flavor, some of which were possibly even Solas’ contemporaries. It was understandable that my skills might look a little…archaic. But how to account for that? I hadn’t even realized that I was doing something outside the norm.

While it was true that I had instructed Garrett and Bethie in 'internal magical casting' both Anders and Merrill were already doing it when I met them ( _for a given value of 'met'_ ). I hadn't had cause to pay attention to the ways that other Circle mages cast their spells. Usually when Garrett was around those types they were casting _at him_ and my focus was on keeping everyone alive instead of how, exactly, they were going about hurling magical death at us. How could I pretend to be perfectly normal if I didn't know exactly what 'normal' was?

Again, I suspected that my best bet would be to avoid, fudge, and obfuscate without outright lying.

On the plus side, the odds of Solas guessing the depth and breadth, much less the origins, of my knowledge of him and his plans were slim to none ( _gambling with my life and may the odds be ever in my favor_ ). On the less optimistic side, I truly had no clue how he would react if _he_ knew that _I_ knew who he was.

I rolled over onto my back to stare up at the ceiling and shelved Solas on my already bursting mental shelf of ‘not thinking about it.’

Sleep was unlikely. I grabbed _The Tale of the Champion_ and a few candles.

Five pages in and I was torn between amusement and horror.

Seven chapters in, I dropped it on the table beside my bed and growled in pure wordless _disgust_ before blowing out the candles.

I did not dream.

* * *

 The next morning I found my _least favorite_ author enjoying porridge and his morning ale in Flissa's tavern. He jumped higher than I expected when I slammed the book down on the table between us. His surprise turned to wariness gratifyingly quickly when he saw my face. I can’t guess what my expression read as, aside from ‘livid.’

“ _Are you fucking kidding me?!_ ” I hissed.

“In Trade, Spooky.”

I huffed, yanked the book closer to my side of the table and opened it to one of the ( _many_ ) spots I took especial issue with. I cleared my throat before reading out the scene where I was introduced: “’Hawke’s informer was cloaked in as much mystery as she was magic. I saw neither hide nor hair of her for many years, but from the Hawke brothers I learned that she was a singular woman, and as likely to break into song as she was to break your heart.’”

Varric sighed. “Look, Spooky, Junior and Hawke don’t agree on much, but when they do, I listen. _Both_ of them knew songs in your _English_ and Hawke was practically a bard by the time he took down the Arishok.”

That was more than a little embarrassing, but not really the part I took issue with. “’Break your heart?’”

He squinted at me. “How far did you get?”

“I’m up to the expedition in the Deep Roads. Didn’t want to give myself nightmares.”

“That’d explain it. Keep reading.”

I rolled my eyes at him and stood to go order my own breakfast.  The day had barely begun and it already felt too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet cookies to anyone who can guess what 'shape' her magic was trying to influence her to take.


	6. Crash Dive on Mingo City, Part II

I didn’t get to do as much reading as I would have liked that day, or for the next week, for that matter. The Inquisition was just beginning: Leliana was sending out ravens to her contacts, Cassandra was organizing what remained of the Chantry folk and the civilians, and Cullen was working with the steadily-growing number of volunteers trickling into Haven to join the fledgling organization.

That said, I hadn’t actually _met_ Cullen yet. I remembered him from _before_ , as well as from Kirkwall. He’d been one of my favorite characters from the games when I’d played them, easily my favorite romance option in the final game I’d played and with one of my favorite character arcs across the series. My encounters with him in Kirkwall had dimmed quite a bit of that shiny, but I was still looking forward to meeting him in person ( _as a person_ ).

I kept myself busy as best I could over that time. I worked with the smith, Harritt, to get some functional armor for my recently embodied mage self and the quartermaster, Threnn, to get everyday clothing. Everyone I spoke with assumed that my travel pack and spare clothes had been destroyed in the Chantry explosion, and I was more than happy to let them keep thinking that.

Solas claimed some of my time to go over my repertoire of commonly utilized spells to confirm that I could cast without mucking with the Mark. At my request, he also helped me refine a few of the simpler offensive elemental spells that I’d been forced to pick up. By the end of the week I had the most basic spells for fire, ice, and lightning down. I was still definitely a support mage, but I could assist in rudimentary ways ( _mostly as a distraction, or glowy green bait_ ).

I made a point of presenting myself to Leliana at least once each day to see if there was something I could do to assist. The first day she’d eyed me, then sent me off to the healing tents. I fetched them the herbs they needed from Adan, the apothecary, and then reported back to her. She assigned me another small task, this time at the forge, and so on ( _fetch quests!_ ). Within five days I had explored the entirety of Haven, as well as a good bit of the surrounding forest, on errands for Leliana and completed a number of small tasks for a variety of citizens.

I didn’t go out of my way to speak with Varric, Solas, or anyone. I was, in hindsight, in a bit of a fugue. There were a lot of things I wasn’t thinking about ( _very full mental bookcase, each shelf bowing in the middle_ ) and the weight of them pressed on me, keeping my mouth shut and my head down. I made a point of smiling and being friendly, but it was wearing on me.

Each night, I tried to read a little more of the book, but I was still recovering and woke with the next morning with it spread on my chest or laying by my side more often than not. If I hadn’t been the ‘blessed Herald,’ Threnn might have murdered me for my constant candle requisitions.

I did not dream.

* * *

On the sixth day, Cassandra found me before I could corner Varric at the tavern.

“Come, there are a few people you should meet.”

I nodded and followed her towards the Chantry. The walk was silent, and it was not a particularly comfortable silence. “So… I started reading Varric’s book the other day,” I said, and immediately regretted it. She was a Tethras fangirl.

“Oh?” It was only familiarity with her character from the game that let me hear the excitement hidden beneath the curiosity. “Is it accurate?”

“It’s not entirely _in_ accurate,” I grudgingly allowed. “I mostly take issue with Varric’s characterization.”

“Yes, I recall.” She sounded like she was trying not to smile. “How far are you?”

“Deep Roads.”

“Hmm. Let me know when you have finished and we will discuss it. I would not want to spoil anything for you.”

I stopped short at that, staring at her. “ _Spoil_ anything?! I _lived_ it!”

One corner of her mouth quirked up, pulling at the scar on her cheek and making her look decidedly rakish. “Yes, but we do not always see things as others do. Now, come, they are waiting.”

Fantastic. The Seeker was a troll.

The inside of the Chantry was golden and bright. It was much nicer when nobody was yelling. We went to the same room in which I’d found Leliana, Cassandra, and Roderick ‘discussing’ my fate. My reception was much warmer this time around: Josephine smiled at me and Cullen tipped his head-

“Wait, why is your hair straight now?” I said, frowning at him.

His ears, visible due to his short, _straight_ hair, immediately turned pink.

“Andraste’s flaming underpants," I said in horrified fascination.  "Did you change your hair because of _Garrett?!_ ”

On some level I felt bad for drawing attention to the poor man’s physical appearance in such an obvious way ( _and insecurities_ ), but on an entirely different level I was trying my best not to _die_ of _laughter_. Both Haw– _Carver_  and Garrett had been predisposed to dislike Cullen because he was a devout Templar and the number one minion under Meredith. They had never understood my fondness for the man. Garrett’s scathing commentary whenever I brought him up, or they were forced to work together in the last few years we were in Kirkwall, was positively _golden_. I knew that some of it ended up verbalized, but I never expected it to have any kind of _impact_.

“Yes, well, he… had a point,” Cullen muttered, eyes now glued to the map on the table between us. “About that… and many other things,” he continued, looking thoroughly miserable.

I bit my lip to the point just shy of bloodshed to keep from cackling in his face. My one regret was that Garrett wasn’t here to-

Nope ( _not thinking about it_ ).

“A topic for later, Commander,” Leliana said, and the thinly veiled humor in her voice had the man cringing in his armor. “May I present my dear friend, Lady Josephine Montilyet. She has agreed to be our chief diplomat and ambassador.”

“Ambassador? We’re not a nation.”

“No, not at this point, but we must acquire contacts and goodwill before we grow too much larger,” Josephine explained. She was so earnest it was nearly palpable and I wondered how much of it was her genuine belief in the cause and how much was the result of her Bard training. “At this point we are relying on donations, but that is not sustainable. Now that the Chantry has denounced us-“

“That was fast.”

“But not unexpected,” Leliana pointed out. “Rumors are spreading of your actions with the Breach. Word has reached Val Royeaux and the remaining Chantry clerics there. The people are calling you the Herald of Andraste, and that frightens them.”

“It frightens _me_. I’m no Herald, of Andraste or any other deity. I’m someone who was in the wrong place at the right time to do something, no more or less,” I insisted. This was my hill, and I was prepared to die. I was not some divine mouthpiece. I could barely speak my own thoughts coherently half the time, let alone speak for a god!

“The woman behind you in the Rift-“

That I _did_ recall. Mostly. “I think…” I looked up to find the Advisors and Cassandra all staring at me avidly. I weighed my options and finally settled on what I thought was the truth: “I think the woman was Divine Justinia, I think she… pushed me? Saved me. I don’t know. I think that it was her, but I can’t really be sure. Everything about the Conclave is still muddled.”

“Justinia,” Cassandra breathed. “You believe Divine Justinia saved you?”

“Well,” Leliana swallowed audibly. “Thank you for telling us, but the truth of the Divine’s involvement will not make the rumors die. It may help them, in fact,” she said with a small smile I read as ‘devious.’ Pretty sure that that meant she would _ensure_ that the late Divine’s involvement only fueled the rumors.

Well, I tried. “ _Ray, when someone asks you if you’re a god, you say ‘yes.’_ ”

“Ah! I do not recognize that tongue,” Josephine said. “From where do you hail? Can we reach out to your family for support?”

I smiled bitterly. “I speak _English_ as my first language. My family, my homeland, is unreachable.” It still hurt, but I’d had a decade to mourn my friends and family. I still thought of them from time to time, but the Fade didn’t have much to remind me of home and jog my most painful memories. I expected that that might become a problem now that I was in the waking world ( _not the time_ ). “The Inquisition will find no help there. Was there anything else, aside from introductions, the Chantry wanting us gone and the people believing I’m some sort of savior…?”

“Solas believes that with enough power we may be able to _seal_ the Breach,” Cassandra informed me.

“Right, so, mages.”

“Or Templars,” Cullen put in. “They could _dampen_ the Breach…”

Judging by the frown on his face, I’m sure my expression must have been telling.

Josephine cut in before anything else could be said: “Unfortunately, we have limited contacts with both the Order and the Rebels – and with the Chantry openly calling us heretics-“ She shook her head. “The Inquisition does not have enough clout to seek out either group and expect welcome,” this last was said half to me and half to her fellows.

I tuned out as the three women and Cullen discussed the next steps for the organization. Whatever they wanted me to do, I’d do. I trusted them to know how to do their jobs. Spies gotta sneak, warriors gotta fight, etc. I was sure that they’d let me know when my input was needed, and, sure enough-

“Herald?” Cassandra said, frowning at my glazed expression.

“What? _No_ ,” I said emphatically, waving my hands. “I thought we covered this. I will _not_ answer to that in private. You can call me whatever you have to in public, I’ll do whatever I must to support you all, but my name is _Cassidy_. Or Dee. Or Spooky,” I finished with a grimace because _fucking Varric_ and his _book_. “I’m not a Herald, I’m a normal person, with a person name.”

“ _Cassidy_ ,” Cassandra amended, exasperation clear, “will you go to the Crossroads?”

“Sure! When are we going? Also, uh, why are we going?”

The disgusted sound she made was oddly satisfying.

* * *

Cassandra planned for us to set off the following morning. It would be the two of us, another group of scouts and soldiers, and Varric and Solas. The final two were to be invited at my insistence, which meant that I had to be the one that did the inviting. I wasn’t terribly worried that they would say ‘no,’ more that I would open my mouth and insert my foot somehow. There were other considerations as well, and only one man here I trusted to help me deal with them.

I hightailed it over to Varric as soon as I split off from Cassandra. “So, we’re off to fetch a Chantry higher-up in the hopes of endorsement and funds and such, you in?” He was staring at me. I forced my already-peppy smile to new realms of bright and beaming. “Pretty please?”

Varric shuddered. “If you promise never to smile like that again, yes.”

“Something wrong with my smile?” I asked, dropping it and poking at my own cheeks. It was my sales pitch smile. I’d never heard complaints before. It usually worked too – maybe I was just out of practice?

He was muttering something to himself, poking at the fire. I made out what sounded like ‘Hawke didn’t _warn_ me’ and something else that might have been ‘too many _teeth_ ’ before he sighed to himself and looked up, expression resigned. “I already said ‘yes,’ you need anything else?”

I dropped down onto the seat beside him. “We’re about to go on a long trip. There will be danger and mayhem, which I have experience with. In between the fighty bits, I expect that we’ll be doing normal things like eating and sleeping and-“ I flicked my fingers at the air. “I don’t know, whatever normal people do on woodsy trails.” When I glanced at him again he was watching me curiously, but I could tell he wasn’t quite following. I sighed. “I’ve never actually done the adventuring thing _like this_. I don’t know what to pack or – _augh!_ ” I buried my face in my hands, massaging my temples to stave off the impending headache. “Help. Please.”

“Huh,” he said. When I looked up, I could tell that it had finally ‘clicked’ for him. He was giving me a concerned onceover. “Been a lot of changes for you, lately. Sorry, Spooks, I shoulda thought of it.” He shook his head in disbelief, “I can’t believe I _didn’t_ think of that.”

“If it didn’t occur to you, then I guess I’m doing better _adjusting_ than I thought,” I pointed out.

“Right, well, first thing’s first. Lets get you a pack.”

With Varric’s assistance and subtle guidance, I was able to procure everything I might need with none the wiser that I was actually a bit clueless about everything a bodied person might need if they were to go traipsing in the woods. I was able to guess most of it due to experience with Garrett and co. but some of it stumped me ( _why do I need a hand mirror, why do I need these **herbs** , what the fuck is that for?!_). Instead of questioning Varric or worrying that he might be punking me ( _seriously, those herbs?_ ), I went with the flow and was soon set to go.

I ducked enough that I wouldn’t be mashing his face in my breasts and pulled him into a quick hug. “Thank you, _so much_ ,” I said, putting all of my gratitude into the words. “I don’t know what I would do without you, all of this is so…” I stepped back and coughed a little at the surprised look on his face. “I really appreciate it.”

Varric smiled, then shook his head with a funny look on his face. “No problem, Spooks.”

“Right then, I need to go talk to Solas and then I guess I’m set.”

“Chuckles? Good luck with that.”

With that ringing endorsement, I went to go find the elf.

* * *

Solas was helping the apothecary, Adan. I respectfully waited till he’d put down what I recognized as a paring knife before clearing my throat. He glanced up, eyes sharp, then gave me a short nod. It only took him a few moments to clean his hands and join me outside of Adan’s workshop.

“Something you needed, Cassidy?”

“We’re going to be heading to the Crossroads tomorrow, the Inquisition leaders want me to go speak with someone named Mother Giselle. I was wondering if you could accompany us?”

“I came to help with the Breach, and it seems likely that you will encounter Rifts on this journey. I would have thought my desire to join you could be assumed.”

I frowned. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to subtly ask me a question, or chide me for potentially wasting his time. “I don’t want to assume _anything_ ,” I told him. “Your presence, your _assistance_ , isn’t something I want to take for granted. That said, you’re right that there will probably be Rifts and demons, and probably other dangers too. I would appreciate it if you would come, but if you have other tasks to take care of here, or don’t want to head into the thick of it again so soon, I understand.”

Solas stared at me with those storm cloud eyes of his just long enough for me to start to feel heat climbing into my face. Then something shifted, I don’t know what, and he tipped his head in a small nod that felt oddly formal. “I would be pleased to assist. Is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment, no, thank you,” I said faintly.

“Cassidy,” he said with another, much shallower, tilt of his head, and returned to the workshop.

I don’t know what the hell that was, and I don’t think I want to know.

I fled.

* * *

The next morning we were _meant_ to leave at dawn. I was still yawning as I followed Cassandra down the winding path that led through the levels of Haven to the road below. I stopped short once we reached the stables ( _why didn’t this occur to me?_ ). There weren’t many horses, nowhere near enough for all of the Inquisition’s growing forces, but they needed us to get to the Crossroads quickly, and, well…

“ _This might be a problem_ ,” I muttered in a strangled voice, staring at the saddled horses obviously waiting for us. I wandered off to the side of the building, braced my hands against the fence there and bowed my head before engaging myself in a furious argument on the merits of avoiding embarrassment by any means necessary.

I could always shapeshift and fly, or perch on somebody’s shoulder.

But that would be a waste of magic.

But _riding_.

I’d need to get used to it sooner or later.

But _riding_.

I should also, if I was being responsible, use this time to get to know my companions.

_But **riding!**_

“ _Fuck me sideways_ ,” I sighed in disgust.

“Problem, Cassidy?” Solas asked my elbow.

How the hell did he get that close, does he not make noise? I mustered up a small smile. “Not exactly. But yes, sort of. I mean-“ I gestured at the horses. “ _Riding_ ,” I told him, widening my eyes and trying to imbue the word with all of the dread I was currently feeling.

“Ah, I take it you are not experienced?” he said carefully.

I snorted. “That’s an understatement. This is going to be… fun.”

“Should you require tutelage, I would be more than happy to instruct you.”

“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” I predicted. “And yes, thank you. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

By the time Cassandra had organized the scouts and soldiers, Solas had me in the saddle and holding the reins with – I won’t lie and say ‘confidence,’ but I was better off with _him_ than I would have been with Varric alone. He’d shown up a while ago and was clearly torn between laughing at me and taking potshots at the human who was so scared by horses.

“I’m not _scared_ of _horses_ ,” I denied hotly. “I just – what if the horse doesn’t want to go where I want it to go? It’s bigger than me!”

That just set Varric off laughing again.

Even Solas was looking amused. It was subtle, but his cheeks were taut as if he was holding back a smile. “That is what the reins are for,” he informed me gravely. “However, if you are truly concerned, you could ask the Seeker if you might double up with someone.”

Ride for hours pressed up against a stranger? “No thanks,” I said immediately. “I’ll figure this out, I _have_ to.” I frowned down at the horse, which obliging flicked an ear back at me. “ _Like riding a bike, right? I’ve done that before. This is just the same. Only the bike is alive, and might have **opinions** about being ridden_.”

“Your horse is called ‘Star,’ serrah,” the helpful stable person informed me. He was probably about seventeen and had very quickly gone from wide-eyed stammering awe at the ‘Herald’ to poorly stifled amusement at my fumbling attempts to figure out mounting. “She’s the mildest in the stable.”

“Well, that’s good to hear, but on a weighted scale-“ I lifted my hands to emulate a scale, careful not to drop the reins for a moment. “Where would you say she falls on the ‘odds of throwing me off and trampling my helpless, delicate body into the mud?’”

“No chance,” he said, and I gave him major props for keeping a straight face.

“Okay, fantastic. Lets do this thing.”

I was unutterably glad that Cassandra had been busy and missed most of this drama. As it stood, I was certain Varric would never let me live it down and, judging by the not-smile on his face, Solas probably wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon either. Luckily, I had brought along a distraction, though it took some time before I felt steady enough in the saddle to pull it out.

I will remember and treasure the sound Varric made when he saw me ostentatiously thumbing through my marked passages in _The Tale of the Champion_ for the rest of my days. “So! Varric! I have a few questions for you…”


	7. Crash Dive on Mingo City, Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was almost a flashback halfway through, and it bogged the whole thing down. This is largely unedited because I got sick of staring at it. I apologize for any inconsistencies or mistakes. Please let me know what you think of Spooky's continuing adventures in Thedas!

In hindsight, I really shouldn’t have been too surprised that Cassandra called a halt to my questions before we were out of sight of the walls of Haven. Granted, on the one hand I had thought she might _enjoy_ seeing me needle Varric the way he did everyone else. On the other hand, I was learning that she was something of a book purist and appeared to be _genuinely concerned_ that Varric might answer my questions and, I’m quoting here, ‘Wreck the story.’

Thinking about the logic behind her nonsense made my brain hurt ( _this is so meta_ ).

The rogue was all too willing to take the out that she offered. “Have a little patience, Spooky,” he told me, guiding his horse to sidle up beside mine. “I promise, you’ll get to the good stuff soon enough,” he added, and then he had the audacity to _wink_ at me.

“’The good stuff?’” I echoed, trying not to grind my teeth. One of the pieces of advice the helpful stable boy had given me was that my tension would be communicated to my steed: if I was tense, the horse would be tense. Imagining all of the ways that Varric might have sensationalized my part in the grand debacle that was Garrett’s time in Kirkwall was the opposite of 'relaxing.'

“Well…” he shrugged. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I, Varric? Because I’m starting to wonder.” I was actually starting to worry about my reputation ( _I am Thedas famous, what **even**_ ), which was so bizarre that I wanted to laugh almost as much as I wanted to beat him about the head with his damn book. “I know what _other_ kind of nonsense you and Isabella liked to write, and I swear to the _Maker_ , Varric, if you put even a _single_ salacious-“

“Whoa, whoa, Spooky. _No_. There’s nothing like that! Why would you think-”

“ _Paramour_!” I cried, and then yelped as the horse nickered and shuffled sideways in clear protest of my volume.

Varric was clearly trying not to laugh at me.

“I know where you _sleep_ ,” I hissed.

“’Paramour’ doesn’t necessarily mean…“ he trailed off under my disbelieving glare, looking uncomfortable.

“You and the Champion truly _never_ -” Cassandra broke in, glancing back. Her horse was ahead, leading the charge so to speak. She was frowning, her eyes flicking between us. She bit her lip when she saw the expression on my face, then sighed. “Never mind. I apologize, my question was inappropriate and ill-timed,” she said, words going clipped and over-enunciated in a way I associated with the upper echelons.

I was reminded, abruptly, that I was in the middle of a _group_ and neither Varric nor I had been particularly _quiet_. “We never _what_?” I prompted.

“…Kissed?” she offered, uncertain.

“No! We weren’t – it wasn’t like that!”

“Oh,” Cassandra said, crestfallen. “Not even after you fled the city?”

“No,” I said shortly, and very deliberately didn’t follow that up with, _Fade/human relations are a little awkward, just ask Solas._ All of this talk of Garrett was really putting a crimp in my plans of _not_ thinking about him to the best of my ability ( _like a lost limb, phantom pains, not-thinking-about-it_ ). “Also,” I said, as the thought occurred to me, “if Varric’s stupid book is in _any_ way accurate, there couldn’t have been any scenes with me kissing _anybody_.” Mostly because we’d spent a grand total of maybe three hours in each other’s company ( _where he could see me_ ), and the vast majority of that time had been dedicated to attempting to save Feynriel from his personal demons.

“Well, there weren’t-” Cassandra admitted.

“See? I told you I kept things as true as I could!”

“-but there was… _subtext_ ,” she finished.

I raised my eyebrows at Varric. “Subtext?”

His expression was inscrutable, but he was studying me intently. He scrubbed a hand over his face, a wry sort of smile on his lips. “I stand by my book, Spooky,” he said after a moment. “Have you gotten past the Deep Roads bits?”

“No-“

“Keep reading,” he said, and there was nothing teasing in his face or voice.

I watched him exchange a look with Cassandra, who pursed her lips in obvious upset before turning to look ahead again. There was a nagging feeling that I’d missed something, the only one not told some vital secret. It was not comfortable and while part of me wanted to ruminate, pick at it, and figure this nonsense out, the rest of me shied away from thoughts of Kirkwall or the Hawkes. It hurt to think about them, and masochism wasn’t my style.

“We’ll discuss this _later_ ,” I said.

“Lookin’ forward to it,” Varric said, cheer returned.

I checked out mentally for a bit, paying more attention to the world around me than my own internal dilemmas. Haven had been cold and snowy, though nowhere near as bad as the climb to the Temple, but we were headed down out of the mountains and into fairer climes. The transition from snow to grass was abrupt and oh-so visually satisfying. My eyes drank in the sights, my ears the sounds, and my lungs ached with every deep breath I took, trying to absorb as much of the world as I could.

Even riding the horse was interesting, in a nerve-wracking sort of way. I enjoyed learning new things, in theory. That is, I liked being good at things but I didn’t like looking like an idiot. The faster I could get myself from ‘novice’ to ‘proficiency,’ the happier I would be. Given the givens, I had best get used to horses and the like as fast as possible. I vaguely recalled there being mounts other than horses in the game, but I’d never really _used_ the mounts when I played. I remembered a lot of walking and camping cutscenes.

After ten years, it really did all sort of blur together.

“What is it that you are singing?” Cassandra asked, breaking into my reverie.

At some point she’d dropped back so her horse was to my left. Varric was still on my right and I assumed that if I turned to look, I’d find Solas directly behind me ( _the better to silently observe you, my dear_ ). The reinforcements, consisting of three soldiers and two scouts, were at the rear and front of the party, respectively.

“Sorry, what?” I said, realizing Cassandra was still waiting for an answer.

“You were… _humming_ something,” she said.

I couldn’t quite read the look on her face. Stifled eagerness? Veiled curiosity? “Humming?” I wasn’t stalling, per se, I genuinely wasn’t sure what I’d been doing and was trying to remember. Humming or mumbling to myself was a habit I’d picked up in the Fade. It wasn’t really something I gave much thought to, but if it was bothersome… “I’m sorry, I’ll try to remember not to.” I gave her a sheepish smile.

“ _No_ ,” she said immediately, appearing a bit more upset than I thought the situation called for. “I was not – you should – _augh_!”

The classic ‘Cassandra is disgusted’ noise was one of the few things from the game that I _did_ remember.

Varric started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

He ignored me, leaning forward against the pommel of his saddle to look around me and address the warrior directly. “I told you, Seeker. I didn’t put anything in the book that I didn’t actually _see_. Or hear, in this case.”

Cassandra’s eyes lit up and I think if she’d had any less self-control she’d have clapped ( _like a scary, armored seal_ ).

This was absolutely ridiculous ( _am I…Cassandra’s favorite character? IS THAT A THING?_ ).

The sound of a throat clearing came from behind me and I twisted in the saddle to look back at Solas. He raised his eyebrows at me in mute inquiry, head tilting to one side.  I flashed him a small smile that probably came off more like 'polite grimace' than anything else, then looked beyond him at the soldiers. One of them, a tall, broad man in full plate that screamed ‘Templar,’ had his mouth half-open as if to speak. He flushed under my scrutiny, but said his piece: “I believe Master Tethras is referring to the following passage in his book, ‘as likely to break into song as she was to break your heart.’”  He had a faint Marcher accent, enough to make me give him a second, _slower_ , once over, but it was nearly buried beneath what was obviously noble-taught elocution.

There were several things that needed to be addressed here, but first: “You _memorized_ it?”

The soldier’s cheeks went from ‘faintly pink’ to ‘beet red.’ “I have an excellent memory,” he said stiffly.

I gaped at him.

“It’s one of the only firsthand accounts of the start of the mage rebellion,” he said defensively. He glanced from me to the other two soldiers, who seemed equal parts surprised he’d spoken up and amused at his plight.

“Always nice to meet a fan,” Varric said, shit-eating grin on his face making me want to hit him all over again.

“From what I can tell,” I said slowly, reluctantly, feeling like the words were being pulled out of me by forceful, greedy little hands, “everything Varric wrote about the singing and the songs is…true.” I made a conscious effort not to grind my teeth when Cassandra actually _gasped_. I turned back to her immediately, and I was pretty sure I didn't imagine the sound of a relieved sigh coming from the Templar's direction. “True _so far!_ I haven’t finished reading!”

It was too late. I swear to god that the woman had _stars_ in her eyes. She was almost _quivering_ in her eagerness. “The Song, then? Is _that_ true?” she asked, words nearly tripping over each other and emphatic capitals obvious. “Varric wrote of a special song that you taught to the Champion, but that you would not translate the meaning. You made a vow that you would only do so if some condition was met? Is _that_ true?”

“ _For fucksake_ ,” I muttered under my breath. I could feel my face going up in flames and in my peripheral vision Cassandra had brought one gloved fist up to press against her mouth, eyes gone huge. “I don’t know why you’re so excited about it. I think, from your reaction, that you’re taking it all out of context,” I said crossly. “Wait, no,” I twisted in the saddle to stare down the dwarf, “ _you_ took it all out of context.”

“Hey,” he said, raising his hands in the universal ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ pose. “I could only write down one side of that particular story. If you want to set the record straight, by all means,” he gestured invitingly. I couldn’t read his expression, and I was reminded abruptly that Garrett had never won a single game of Wicked Grace that Varric didn’t _allow_ him to win.

This felt like a trap. Worse, it felt like an _obvious_ trap.

But it really _was_ a silly story. It wasn’t even a good song!

I rubbed at my temple and sighed. “Okay, so I haven’t gotten to this part of Varric’s book yet. I have no idea how he tells it, or how _Garrett_ told it to _him_. And please keep in mind that this happened _several years ago_ so… bear with me, I guess.”

Cassandra honest-to-god _squealed_.

Which, of course, put a great deal of pressure on me. I realized, abruptly, that everyone in the party was watching me, listening to me. This was somehow worse than when people stared after me in Haven. It was more _personal_.

I pulled my shoulders back down from where they’d hunched at my ears. “You know,” I said airily, “maybe I should wait until I get to this part of Varric’s book. I think I should know _exactly_ what I’m rebutting.”

Cassandra made a soft sound of disappointment and Varric muttered something that sounded an awful lot like _tease_.

* * *

When we made camp that night I made a point of watching what Cassandra did and more or less copying it. I would be sharing a tent with her, which meant my attempt to _not_ look like a camping novice might actually work. She didn’t appear to notice anything out of the ordinary, and she didn’t seem the type to beat around the bush if something tweaked her as wrong. Based on that, I felt comfortable assuming my ruse was successful. I committed the camping rituals to memory as much as I could and tried to avoid thinking about what we were likely to find in the Hinterlands.

I remembered pointless fighting and bears. That was really about it.

The next thing to distract me from my giant list of things not to think about was the division of watch. I was unsurprised when my name was not one of the ones called out, but I came near to choking on my tongue when I heard ‘Trevelyan’ named for second watch. I surreptitiously glanced around until my eyes latched onto the Tethras fanboy from earlier.

“Ser,” Trevelyan said, acknowledging and accepting Cassandra’s orders.

I ducked my head before he could catch me looking and pondered what this meant. In Dragon Age: Origins, any of the potential player characters that were not chosen by the player would die in their respective homes without Duncan to conscript them. I had always assumed that it was the same for Dragon Age: Inquisition because all attendees of the Conclave had died. I didn’t count myself among the attendees because I hadn’t actually gone to the Conclave ( _with them in spirit, not body, hah_ ).

If there was a _Trevelyan_ here, did that mean that others might have survived?

How? Why?

This was a puzzle, and a good distraction. I let my thoughts circle around the issue all the way through dinner. I had intended to try and get to know my companions a little better during this journey, but the book discussion had derailed that and by the time I’d managed to get us off that topic I was no longer in the mood to talk to _anyone_. I missed my friends-who-had-become-family. I missed Garrett. I missed-

Hopefully, sleeping on it would cure me of my general grumpiness.

In spite of the hardness of the ground, I dropped right off.

Again, I did not dream.


	8. Crash Dive on Mingo City, Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a Mother, and the mother of all slip-ups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more part to this section. Also, yes, my username has changed.
> 
> I've been sitting on 3/4 of this one for MONTHS. I am sick of looking at it, so please tell me what you think.

We got an early start the next morning. With fewer people to deal with, Cassandra got her way more readily, which meant that early was _early_. I had not rested well, and I couldn’t even blame it on bad dreams since I hadn’t had any. I was starting to wonder about that, too. Shouldn’t I be dreaming? I didn’t recall any weird Fade nonsense occurring during the third game ( _technically the whole game was ‘weird Fade nonsense,’ technically –_ ), but I also had no real frame of reference for what normal dreaming looking like for a mage of Thedas. Mages dreamt and went to the Fade as a matter of course, right? My frame of reference was hopelessly skewed by my own unique circumstances.

I’d been a spirit, permanently stuck in the Fade, no need to visit while unconscious. I hadn’t really slept while in the Fade, but I had _drifted_. I couldn’t even use Garrett’s experiences as a guide since, due to the nature of our connection, he had inevitably been drawn to me whenever he slept and dreamt.

Between my general sluggishness and the dark tenor of my thoughts, I did not make for the most verbose of traveling companions. I was aware of conversations happening around me, mostly between Cassandra and the assorted reinforcements we’d brought along, but did not partake. Luckily, we’d made camp only a short distance outside of the valley that was our eventual destination and were able to find our way to the Inquisition’s temporary base well before noon.

We dismounted and, as had been the case last night, the scouts came forward to take the horses of the ‘main crew.’ At some point I would have to learn how to care for a steed, but apparently today was not that day. Cassandra led us through the tents till we reached one that was slightly larger. Inside we found a few short tables, a desk, and a young female dwarf whose eyes nearly bugged clean out of her skull when she saw us.

Or, to be more precise, when she saw _me_.

“Herald of Andraste-“

“Sorry, neither,” I said brightly. Behind me, I heard Cassandra make an aggrieved sound.

She was now looking less awed and more confused. “I’m – I beg your pardon?”

“What she _means_ to say is that it’s nice to meet you,” Varric put in, wearing an expression I recognized as Charming Grin #5 – Garrett has said something offensive to somebody important ( _or armed_ ).

“No, what I _mean_ to say is that I prefer to be called ‘Cassidy’ over a title I have neither earned nor claimed.” I mustered up a small smile and worked even harder to make it seem genuine. “’Dee,’ is also fine, as I get the feeling we’ll probably be working together rather closely.”

“Harding,” she replied, still nonplussed. “Or, ‘Lace,’ I suppose, if we’re being informal…” Her lips twisted into a wry sort of smile and for a moment I didn’t see her, I saw Garrett, and pain twisted in my chest so sharp and swift that it left me breathless.

I did not have time for this ( _don’t think about him don’t think about him **don’t**_ ).

“So, Not-Herald, do you still want to know the situation?”

Yes, _please_ distract me from my problems by letting me solve somebody else’s. “Just because I’m rejecting the title, that doesn’t mean I won’t _help_ ,” I assured her.

Lace nodded amiably. “Well then, it’s like this-“

I tuned out. I was pretty sure I already knew the gist: Crossroads, Mother Giselle, mages vs. Templars, something about a farm, and then Redcliffe. The fact that this was probably the section of the game that I most remembered had almost no bearing on my inability to focus on what Lace said. The sheer _physicality_ of my emotional pain distracted me and I had to focus on trying not to curl in on myself like a startled pillbug. My chest _ached_. In a decade without a body I’d forgotten the way that emotions could overwhelm the nervous system.

Since the reunion of body and spirit the strongest emotions I’d had to deal with were anxiety and blind terror. Anxiety was an old friend, I knew how to handle a panic attack, or at least put it off. Terror was close enough to anxiety that I could treat them largely the same.

This was a horse of a different color.

It wasn’t just the severed bond with Garrett that was driving me spare, though that was bad enough ( _phantom limb pains_ ). I at least had a modicum of experience with losing that sort of tie, though last time had been a carefully planned and orchestrated event. Garrett had been my companion, my closest friend. He had been my _other half_ in an almost literal sense when one took into account the intimacy of the mage/spirit bond. We’d been partners in magic for _nine years_. I missed his presence, even when silent, the surety that he was there should I have need of company or advice or a listening ear, a sounding board for all my best ideas and worst impulses ( _reaching for him unconsciously, constantly feeling like I’d missed a step and was about to free fall when nobody **reached back**_ ).

I didn’t _need_ him. I was complete without him. I’d lived without him before and I knew I could do it again ( _I think I can I think I can I think I can I_ ).

But, _goddamnit_ , I wanted him _here_.

It felt like that acknowledgement finally broke the dam and suddenly my mind was whirling with all the unanswered questions I’d been stifling for days. Was Garrett okay? How was he adjusting to the loss of our connection? Had he heard word that I was the Herald? Was he on his way across the sea even now? Did I even want him to come find me? Did I want him dragged into this any more than he already was? Would he be safe where he was? How far had this spread? How was the rest of the crew? Bethany? Hawke? Merrill? Were they together or apart? This was the longest I’d gone without contacting any of them in over five years. I was used to weekly check-ins at _minimum_. I missed them all. I was scared for them. I had no way of knowing how they were, where they were, what they planned, I was out of the loop and out of contact and _going out of my mind_.

I dug the heel of my right hand into my breastbone and let my head drop forward. My eyes slid shut and I scrunched my face up to try and move some of the tension out of my skull. It didn’t work. I might not have been paying attention to the conversation, but the sudden silence had me wincing even more than the hurt did.

“Spooky?”

I had to clear my throat before I could talk. “Yeah?”

“You all right?”

Not even a little. “Yeah.”

“You sure? You’re kind of…glowing.”

That had my eyes opening up right quick. Varric was right, there was a faint corona of light creeping over my skin like a pastel mist. It drifted up and out in faint spirals that disappeared from the naked eye inches from my skin. As a mage, I could perceive that the magic wasn’t dissipating: it was forming something like a shell. In my upset, my magic had attempted to slip my skin and protect me, a habit that had become an instinctual response, developed and honed in the Fade.

It was a reflex that was really only useful to people who spent a lot of time _in_ the Fade.

Shit shit shit shit _shit_ -

“An interesting effect. May I ask what you were trying to accomplish?” Solas inquired mildly.

Deep breaths ( _keep breathing while you have the chance_ ), silence is better than babbling ( _whatever you say can and will be held against you_ ), there’s nothing noteworthy here ( _pay no attention to the man behind the curtain_ ), you’ve done nothing wrong. Don’t lie ( _whatever you do, don’t blink, blink and you’re dead_ ), but maybe don’t tell the whole truth either ( _you can’t handle the truth_ ).

I looked up and smiled my blandest customer service smile.  Speak slowly and clearly, you’re in no rush, there’s nothing to hide. “Little trick I picked up, can’t remember exactly where. It’s a kind of calming technique. All of this,” I gestured at the tent, the books, the maps, Lace. “Well, I mean, it’s a little overwhelming. All of these problems and just our little itty bitty group.” I took a deep breath and looked over at Cassandra and Lace, ignoring the way that Solas was staring at me. I could feel the hair on my arms and the back of my neck prickling, an involuntary reaction to the near-physical _weight_ of Solas’s regard.

“ _Well begun is half done_ ,” I said, mostly to myself. “So what should we tackle first?”

“The crossroads,” Lace said firmly, I appreciated her pragmatism in the face of my weirdness. Maybe I could recruit her as a full companion? It was something to ponder ( _something to distract me from the elf still staring daggers and poniards and kukri, oh my_ ). “It’s the center of travel, and the faster we have it calmed down the faster we can make inroads to the populace.”

“Crossroads, Giselle, regroup,” I said, ticking off the items on my fingers. “Sounds like a plan to me. Objections?” I waited a few beats, then beamed at them all, ignoring Varric’s resulting wince ( _too many teeth again?_ ). “Excellent! Lets go then.” Solas was _still staring_. I could feel his eyes on the back of my head almost like a physical touch. My hands were deep in the pockets of my cloak as I led the way out of the tent, and they were shaking so hard that I could feel it rattling up to my elbows.

“Spooky…” Varric called. I glanced back at him over my shoulder. I didn’t know what he read on my face, but whatever he saw made him purse his lips and sigh. “Why don’t you share my tent tonight,” he continued after a moment. “It’ll be like old times! You, me, threats to life and limb…” he trailed off with eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I…” What the hell, why not? “Sounds good.”

* * *

The crossroads were chaos.

The only person in our group who would want to remember all that occurred there was Varric, and only because he needed to recall it in order to accurately portray it in books to come. For me, I was happy to live through it, and happier still that I’d already seen enough carnage and destruction that I could slot these new battles in with the rest. It was awful, but none of it was _shocking_. It was no Kirkwall, at the very least. I would have called it nightmare fuel except I hadn’t dreamt in years.

We tried to reason with both sides, I could hold onto that as a talisman against the worst of my guilt and wretchedness. I did indeed feel guilty, and it _was_ wretched. This kind of death and destruction was so _pointless_. It wasn’t like fighting bandits or mercenaries or anything like that, that was greed – _desperate_ greed, more often than not, but greed nonetheless. These were people scared, losing reason in a world gone mad.

A lot of them had already given up on the possibility of fixing anything. Their despair had overwhelmed them and become a sort of madness. Fighting them, cutting them down, was wearing in a way that went deeper than muscle tiredness. I was exhausted, physically _and_ spiritually, by the time we’d made the Crossroads passable. Organizing the refugees and Inquisition volunteers was mentally taxing and even that wasn’t the end of my day. No, I still had to meet with Mother Giselle.

I was vaguely aware of both Solas and Varric following behind me discretely, but paid them no real mind. This was the last task I knew I had to see to before I could go _rest_. Just this, and I could be done for the day, shut myself up in a tent and lick my wounds ( _crawling in my skin, these wounds –_ ) in private.

Mother Giselle was a tall, stately black woman who, judging by the smudges of blood on her robes and the fact that I found her kneeling and offering comfort to an injured soldier, was unafraid to get her cassock dirty. She eyed me as I walked up to her, smiling a little when it became clear I didn’t intend to interrupt her words to the wounded.

“Mother Giselle,” I said when she finished, too exhausted to offer much more in the way of greeting.

“I am,” she said, rising to her feet, “and you must be the one they’re calling-“

“Herald, yes,” I said, grimacing. “Not through any choice of my own.”

She chuckled at that. “We seldom get to choose our fate.

 _Sister, you don’t know the half of it._ “I _choose_ not to take advantage of a title I don’t believe I’ve earned. I _choose_ not to agree to be a figurehead for a religion I don’t believe in. My choices may be limited, but that makes them even more important to me. I will do what I can with what I have,” I said, holding my left hand palm-up between us so that the glow of the Mark was obvious, “but, inasmuch as I have a _choice_ , I will not take advantage of scared and desperate _faithful_ people to set myself up as some sort of all-powerful, all-knowing savior.”

She rocked back on her heels, studying me. “You are not what I expected,” she said at last.

“Let me guess, you thought I’d be taller?”

She hummed, but said nothing to that, a small smile playing about her lips. “Your abilities and resources are diminished by the denouncement of the Chantry. Your opponents have many reasons to decry you; fear and politics are among the greatest motivators. For now, though the melody may be different, the words they sing are the same. Their voices, raised against you, are unified.”

I was too tired to be anything but direct. “Will you help me, ah, change their tune?”

Somewhere behind me, Varric snorted.

The Mother smiled again. I was beginning to hate that smile. “My voice, raised against theirs, can only do so much. I would advise you to face your detractors directly. Speak to them as you have spoken to me. You may ease their fears, convince them of your true purpose. At the very least, you will disrupt their unified chorus.”

That was about what I had expected, and I’d happily lay coin that it was pretty much exactly what Leliana and Josephine were already planning. This was, in all likelihood, merely a test. My meeting with the Mother was the first step into the dance that the Orlesians called ‘The Game’ ( _you either win or you die, throne optional_ ). “I will try,” I told her.

“Whether you lay claim to Divine inspiration or no, there is power in who and what you are _choosing_ to be. You stand at the forefront, and you will lead, whether you _will_ it or no. Having met you, I _hope_. Whether my hope shall turn to faith…” she shrugged, smiling that damnable enigmatic smile. “I will come with you to Haven, and I will give Leliana the names of what Chantry members I believe may be amenable to a gather. It is not much, but I will do what I can with what I have.”

“Thank you for your advice and assistance, Mother Giselle,” I said, trying not to bite out the words. _Fucking Orlesians._ I felt simultaneously mocked and approved of, and neither of those things made me particularly pleased under the circumstances. The very last thing I needed today was to accidentally convince a popular and politically powerful revered Mother of my _utterly fictional_ divinity.

“Maker guide your steps,” she murmured as I turned to go.

“ _That would explain why I stumble so often_ ,” I muttered under my breath.

“That seemed to go well,” Varric said encouragingly when I reached him.

“Indeed, you have a gift for _inspiration_ ,” Solas offered.

I wasn’t sure which seemed sharper: his words or his eyes. Regardless, I was just. _Done_. So very _done_. Stick a whole cutlery set in me. “I need a wash and a bedroll, in that order,” I told them. It was taking all I had not to sway where I stood. “Please,” I said, aware of but unable to control the way my voice broke a little on the word.

“Come on, Spooks, Cassandra said there’re a few empty cabins set aside for us for the night.”


	9. Crash Dive on Mingo City, Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild foreshadowing appears!

The cabin Varric led me to was small, clean, and quiet. I walked past where he was unloading his own pack onto a table in the main room and into the bedroom, where I immediately dropped to the floor. Curled in a ball, I stuck my face into my folded arms and forced all the air out of my lungs in the form of the loudest noise I could manage to make. Muffled as it was by my clothing, the sound barely reached the front door, but that was enough for Varric to stick his head in the room.

“Spooky? How you holding up?”

“’Holding up?’” I echoed, and then snorted. “Varric, I’m barely _hanging on_.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” he said, coming fully into the room. He sank into a crouch before me and reached out, pausing for a moment before resting a hand on my shoulder. He waited till I made eye contact with him before speaking: “Spooks, you went from being a prisoner of the Fade, to an _actual_ prisoner, to figurehead of a heretical religious movement in…oh, about seven days? Frankly, I’m amazed you’re still standing.”

Put like that… “Stick around, who knows where I’ll be this time next week!”

He laughed and looked away, shaking his head. “You know, the scary thing is, I’m not sure if you’re kidding.”

I snorted and scrubbed at my face with one hand. If I ignored the dampness on my face, hopefully he would too. “Truth be told? Neither am I.”

We couldn’t actually manage a full bath, but a wash was doable. One quick scrounge for a suitable receptacle later, I made ice, then fire, and soon enough there was a steaming hot bucket of water. I let Varric go first while I looked after the leather battle coat I’d been given. I hadn’t really been hit by anything more than a little force magic, but there were a few bloodstains on my sleeves, to say nothing of the mess of blood and mud that stained the bottom several inches of the hem. I used cold water to get most of it off, and by the time I’d finished, Varric was done with his ‘bath.’

“Your turn, I’ll scrounge up some food while you wash up.”

I was, not for the first time, overcome with gratefulness. “Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, I – just… _thank you_.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re making me blush,” he said, rolling his eyes as he headed for the door. His ears actually _were_ starting to turn a lovely pink, just at the tips, but I bit my tongue and just smiled after him.

The hot water was a relief on multiple levels. For one thing, I didn’t like smelling like sweat and horse, and for another, I felt dirty in a way that went more than skin-deep. The killing, the constant references to Andraste, the awed stares that still followed me in spite of my vocal denials, it all stuck to me, it stuck _with_ me, and ‘uncomfortable’ was the least of the words I’d use to describe it. Ultimately, the water couldn’t really reach _that_ , but it did help in a weird way. I felt, if not relaxed, then at least a little better.

The slightly buoyed mood lasted until I opened the door and saw Solas sitting at the table in the main room of the cabin. Shit shit shit shit _shit_ -

“Solas,” I said, dipping my head in greeting but never _once_ taking my eyes off of him. “Did you need something?”

He was studying me intently, eyes narrowed. “I have…questions,” he said.

 _Stay calm, stay rational, he probably can’t actually **smell** fear_. “I might have answers,” I said, pulling out one of the three other chairs set around the table and flopping into it gracelessly. _He won’t kill you, not while you have the Mark and the Breach is still in the sky,_ I reminded myself.

But…there _are_ worse things than death.

**A space where memories once resided, a gap closed so smoothly that it might _almost_ not be there.**

I rolled shoulders that were suddenly several magnitudes tighter than the situation seemed to call for. There had been something, the barest shadow of –

A thought?

Maybe?

It was gone now.

I took a breath, released it. If it, whatever it was, was important, it would come back to me eventually. In the meantime I had much more immediate concerns. “Ask away, I might even answer.”

“You have exhibited certain magics and traits I would not expect from a Circle Mage.”

“Did I ever say I was a Circle Mage?” I frowned, thinking of the book in my pack in the other room. “Hang on, did _Varric_ imply I was a Circle Mage?” If he had, well, I already had a list going beside the chapter index of his book and it was titled ‘reasons I should murder the author,’ this would just be entry fifteen.

“He did not, not in so many words. He was rather reticent about your origins.”

There was a pause while Solas studied me. After a few moments I couldn’t help but point out that: “You know, you haven’t actually asked me a question yet.”

His lips twitched into one of those almost-smiles he'd apparently perfected.  “Are you what the people of Tevinter call a ‘Somniari?’ Are you a Dreamer?”

I blinked rapidly, unable to hide how taken aback I was by the question. That was both better and worse than I had expected. “I have never thought of myself as such, but I suppose it’s not an entirely inaccurate descriptor. My relationship with the Fade has never been exactly like other mages’,” I admitted wryly, and I think I must have somehow transcended terror and traveled into a realm _without fucks_ in order to utter _that_ massive understatement.

Solas sat forward, eyes alight, expression intent, and the air around him seemed somehow _harder_ under the sheer pressure of his _focus_. I guessed we’d finally gotten to whatever had driven him here. “What, then, have you been able to find of the ones that began this? Do not think me so foolish as to believe you would not ferret out information however you can-“

I snorted, staring at him, and then started to laugh outright. The pressures of the day and this conversation had finally made me snap ( _crackle! pop!_ ). “I like knowing things, and I’m pretty good at finding out stuff people don’t want known. You’re right about that,” _even if you’re right about almost nothing else_ , I finished internally. “But, funnily enough, I haven’t dreamt at all since I got this,” I wriggled the fingers of my left hand. “I lay my head down, I sleep, but I do not dream.”

That seemed to startle him. He sat back in his seat, obviously thinking, but he seemed stiller, less _bright_ to my eyes than he had a moment ago. I’m not sure what it was I was picking up, but the fact that there was suddenly _less_ of it allowed my muscles to loosen and my shoulders to drop. “You cannot reach the Fade?” he asked, words almost clinical in detachment.

“I can draw on it, but something seems to be blocking me from _entering_ it. Ironic, no?”

He reached out, then paused, looking me in the eye. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at my Marked hand.

I grimaced but, well, whatever had just occurred, I was pretty sure I’d just been slotted firmly back into ‘puzzle to be solved’ territory. “Be gentle,” I said, only half joking, as I let him take my hand.

Solas pored over the Mark like a true scholar, i.e.: as if it wasn’t attached to a living, breathing person. He didn’t even look up when the door opened.

Varric took the scene in at a glance, and quirked a brow at me. “Should I even ask?”

“Solas was just about to tell me my fortune,” I said cheerfully.

“You will face many enemies and make many friends,” he said without missing a beat or lifting his gaze from his study of my hand. “There will be dangers untold, some so fantastical that few will believe you in the telling, and a love such that songs will be sung of it for years to come.”

By that point Varric and I were both staring at him, eyes wide and, in my case, mouth agape.

“Um…” I said eloquently, voice having risen about three octaves in pure distress.

Solas looked up at me from beneath his lashes, lips twitching with suppressed mirth.

_Oh, that **bastard** –_

“Do I have the right of it, Master Tethras? Is that not how you shall record this venture?”

Varric huffed and finally entered the room, sliding two plates onto the table. “I try not to stray too far from the truth when I’m writing about my friends, especially not the ones who might take issue with extreme prejudice, and pointy objects,” he said, giving me a lopsided smile. “I leave those kinds of shenanigans to the Rivaini, but from what I’ve seen so far? You’re probably not too far off.”

“ _May you live in interesting times_ ,” I muttered, then translated the saying to Trade for the benefit of my companions. “Its one of the oldest curses on record among my people,” I explained. Assuming, of course, that ‘my people’ was extended to include all humans of Earth as opposed to just my direct ancestors. Eh, close enough.

“And do you believe yourself to be so cursed?” Solas asked.

“The evidence,” I took my hand from his grasp and waved it around, “is suggestive. But I guess it could be worse. It could be raining.” After a few more moments of contemplation, I chuckled, “Of course, we have another saying, it comes from one of my favorite songs: if you’re bored, then you’re boring.”

“Spooky, nobody would ever _dare_ accuse you of being ‘boring’,” Varric informed me, a small grin on his face.

I gave my hand back for continued study while Varric divvied up the food he’d procured between the three of us. It was quiet, save for my soft humming of ‘Flagpole Sitta’, but it was a _good_ kind of quiet. I might even call it ‘peaceful,’ if pressed. It was nice…even if I _was_ sitting with the popular author who’d ensured my name was known the length and breadth of the realm and an ancient Elvhen god who almost certainly had a hand in the disaster I was now tasked with solving.

“ _The agony and the irony, they're killing me_ ,” I sang quietly.

This time I didn’t translate.

* * *

All three of my companions ended up sharing the house with me. Varric, I had planned on. Solas invited himself in order to ‘monitor how my mark interacted with my dreaming self.’ _Cassandra_ invited herself after checking in on us and discovering that we were about to try something, ahem, ‘spooky.’ I supposed it made sense from a Templar-Seeker perspective to have additional monitoring considering the circumstances.

Considering _my_ circumstances, I didn’t have any real objections. Solas plus dreaming was my worst nightmare.

Metaphorically speaking.

We bunked down in the main room. The actual beds had long since been removed to the makeshift infirmary and we hadn’t asked for them back. We ended up placing our bedrolls in a line before the fireplace: Varric, then me, Solas, and Cassandra. It took all I had not to laugh once things had been set up. All we were missing was a television, some rom-coms, chocolate, and maybe a stock of hair ties…

Solas walked by me at that very moment, and the firelight glinting off of his bare head set me off into near-hysterics. I buried my face in my bedroll and laughed like I hadn’t in literal years. There’s something about the physicality of humor, the release that a good laugh gives, that I had missed without realizing it. When I looked up I saw Solas watching me with a raised brow and it nearly set me off all over again.

“Dare I ask?” he said, tone bone-dry.

“This reminds me of a _slumber party_ ,” I wheezed, turning on my back. “Where a group, usually of teenage girls, gathers and sleeps all in one room. Usually they end up talking about, I don’t know, boys, make-up, fashion, that sort of thing. I just thought, well,” I gestured, “we have the set-up…”

“And this was the cause of your hilarity?”

“Not exactly,” I hedged.

He stared at me in mute inquiry.

“Usually the girls will, ah, play with each others’ hair?”

“Ah,” Solas said, nodding sagely. “Sadly I have none such to contribute. Perhaps Master Tethras’s chest hair might fill in?”

“Please, call me ‘Varric,’ I always end up looking for Bartrand with you throwing out Tethras this and Tethras that,” Varric said, entering the room. “And what exactly are you volunteering me for, Chuckles?”

“Slumber parties, hair braiding,” I flapped a hand dismissively, but it wasn’t _quite_ so easy to dismiss the idea of toying with Varric’s chest hair from my mind.

I _had_ always been curious…

“I gotta ask – do you shave or is it all just _gone_?” Varric asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

“I utilize a spell but it is much the same as shaving,” Solas replied.

“Huh.” Varric squinted at him for a moment. “Can’t picture it.”

I’d seen the concept art, so I was confident that – “You’d look good with long hair.”

Both Varric and Solas eyed me, brows raised.

“I’m just say – nevermind,” I muttered. “...Do we need to wait for Cassandra, or can I go to sleep now?”

“I do not believe the Seeker’s presence will be necessary, but if it would comfort you to wait-“

I was more worried about _waking up_ than going to sleep. “I’m _tired_ ,” I said, and it was _not_ a whine. Really.

“Then I shall monitor your dreams.”

“Assuming I have any,” I said, bundling myself up in my blanket.

“All mages dream, Cassidy,” Solas reproached me.

I grimaced, but said nothing. Closing my eyes, I let the soft sound of Varric’s quill scratching away wash over me.

It had been a long day, and I fell asleep quickly.

* * *

Three brunets sat around a table covered in maps and papers. The tallest of the three sat back in his chair, legs stretched out before him in a way that put him furthest from the table, arms folded and lips pursed as he watched the proceedings. The shortest, and the only female, was perched on the edge of her seat, posture erect and expression firm as she sorted through several stacks of papers, ordering them into several piles. The third and final member of the trio was slouched down in his seat, legs crossed and feet propped on the table in front of him. Even sitting still there was a restless, kinetic sort of energy about him as if he might burst into motion at any moment.

The Hawke siblings were, as ever, a study in contrasts.

“I don’t like this,” Garrett said, erupting from his seat and beginning to pace.

“We know,” Bethany sighed, continuing her work.

“No, I _really_ don’t like this.”

“You’ve been outvoted,” Carver said quietly. He was watching his brother carefully, but did not rise.

Garrett pulled a face. “Your votes together should only count as one.”

“We shared a womb, not a brain,” Bethany muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, yes, we all know Bethy got the brain. Carver got… what _did_ you get, exactly?”

It was Carver’s turn to roll his eyes. “The brawn.”

“It’s no fun if you play along. I miss the Carver that got all angry and grumbled-“

“No, you don’t.”

“…fine, I don’t. If we’re being honest with each other, though-“

“You don’t like this. We _know_ ,” Bethany said, at last looking up at her eldest brother. “You’re not the only one who’s worried,” she pointed out.

Garrett stared at her, jaw working silently. “I know,” he said roughly. “I just-“ He shook his head as if trying to shake something off, or _out_. “I can’t-“ His fists were clenching and releasing spasmodically at his sides. “I’m going to the ‘Man,” he said after a moment. “I'll check in with Izzy, maybe there are some new-“ he shook his head again and, without another word, spun on his heel and left the room.

Bethany and Carver watched him go.

“You’re going to have to sit on him to keep him from following me,” Carver said mildly.

“I’ll have Aveline do it. Maker knows she’s had practice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this went without saying but, DON'T BE A DICK. If you don't like something, or have questions, please feel free to say so in a CONSTRUCTIVE MANNER. Unkind comments will be deleted, unanswered.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you liked, or didn't like, as well as what you'd like to see more (or less!) of in future chapters.


End file.
